i breathe lifetimes | vkook

1963

O9 february .

dormant azalea,

     the wine in this clear vessel obscures my reflection and delivers me less pleasure in its lukewarmness. many things disconcert me at this moment. i am well, physically, yes. if you wonder about me at all, i can assure you that i am brimming with solitary, festering in my resentment. why did i let you go? that i cannot answer myself. i feel i might cause a tragedy greater than that of kennedy's if i offer so much as a word of explanation. 

     you were enamored by her eyes, were you not? she reminds me of a freshly picked petunia in the daylight. such a lovely girl in her paramount years. but if i ask you whom you loved under the orange light in a tango of landmines, would you still say it is her? could you say that her eyes saved you? could you say that you're the wealthiest man to have her or would it be the other way around? i say, without a hint of doubt in my stare and intonation, that i am more than wealthy to have you think of me.

     you and i, we're like vines trailing into the spaces between hollow blocks. while you sprouted white flowers, i grew white of my own. aphids. and soon later, i was consumed. please don't press any assumptions to me. i do not confess any form of weakness. for only a great amount of bravery can deliver a sacrifice such as this.

     there are talks. we do not write to each other anymore, yet my life seems to involve you with or without either of us intending to. . . it must be fated? we must be, correct? i've been given enough information with regards to your confessions and your wedding. even if you're captured in her arms, your wounds salved by her voice, and your smile no longer containing the joy i once brought, you must feel the same way somehow, somewhere in you. i am the times you look back to and the times you look pass, too. a quirky term: deja vu. you are my most prized memory. hopefully, i am yours if you're able to recall like how i do.

     one out of two lifetimes gets absolutely tormenting. alike this. i anticipate the end. the end that catalyzes our reunion. if only we were of the same breed of flower, maybe you'll be able to understand this kind of battle.

     you may not be mine tonight, but i promise and i know that one day you will be. and i will love you the way i've always dreamed to be loved by you.

—zinnia