LETTERS TO REALITY ✓

JIMIN

LETTER SIX
To Park Jimin

Our story is a tale I wish had a happy ending because if I could have a happy ending with anyone, I'd love for it to be with you.

But it depends on how you look at our ending. Maybe it was meant to happen, meant to be suitable, helpful for both of us and maybe our ending is still yet to come. I don't know.

You were like golden sunlight filtering through curtains, stolen glances and timid smiles that made my heart beat faster. You reminded me of making wishes on shooting stars from your small balcony, faithful forehead kisses, the scent of warm vanilla, handwritten love notes, cuddling under a big fluffy blanket, walking through a field of sunflowers and believing in magic and inevitable fate.

I remember the first time I thought I had met you, I thought you were so godly.

We met at a gay club.

I was leaning against the slate marble counter, my butt on a spinning stool as my eyes took in the drunken bodies letting loose, couples with drinks swaying around in their hands, splashing liquid onto the floor. The music was so riotous I wanted to cover my ears and I was crying at the bar... Alone, until you came along.

I was playing with the glass of alcohol in my hand when you approached me quietly with a complacent smile. Your hands were in the pockets of your black jeans, your button-up shirt exposing your pale chest and collarbone as you tilted your head, taking in the sight.

Me, drunk and unsettled.

God, your smile! You were looking at me in a way that made me feel uneasy but good about myself. There was a hint of mischief in those brick eyes and seeing a smile on that face twisted my insides because your lips turned upwards, your cheeks glowing with the colour of a pink rose and your eyes slightly disappeared. You were always so pleasing to the eye.

"Hey." You stepped forward, still looking at me. I was confused as to why you were talking to a stranger. "How are you doing?" But we were at a bar after all and people usually came here looking for someone to satisfy their lust, even if it was for one night.

"What are you doing at a gay bar?" You asked me, taking the leather seat beside me.

I thought I didn't hear you correctly. "A what? A gay bar?"

"Yes." You chuckled.

I had no idea.

"What am I doing here?" I clicked my tongue and took a lengthy drink of the toxic substance. "Trying to forget someone... You?" I'm an honest drunk.

You took the glass from my hands and drank from it. "Aren't we all?" You scoffed in dismay. Forgetting people was our forte.

Minutes passed and somehow, we moved physically closer- your hand resting on my thigh involuntarily, our faces inches apart and the eye contact between us was intimate and nerve-wracking. I was in my early twenties at a gay bar with a very enticing (possibly gay) stranger. I thought it was odd.

Then you asked me a question, your sultry breath fanning my face as I took in the smell of alcohol, smoke and your heavy cologne. Your eyes became hooded and your voice was deep but consoling.

"Can I?" You murmured and stared at my lips which caused me to look at yours. Fulsome thoughts running through our minds as I took in your pink plump lips-

How could I resist such a man?

So, I nodded.

The kiss made me feel barbarous. I never knew a stranger could make me feel such a way. A way in which my skin felt like it was burning under your skilful hands as they trailed down the sides of my arms to wrap around my waist.