i'll find you a room

❝playlist;❞
Gone

Her fingers found the refined glass as she scratched the surface again, and again, her fingers now red and her nails already half chewed.

The water hit her back like knives, each drop stabbing her back like her tears weren't staining her cheeks already.

Infirm.

How infirm she was. Weak, almost at the verge of dying.

Her emotions were naked like her physique, each curve, each part touched by the water to the point she had no idea what were her tears and what water.

How had he reduced her to such a fate in one night?

It was the most beautiful night of her life. A slash of chardonnay to go with it, to paint the mauve coloured skies with love.

Yang Seo-jun, you're a bloody bastard.

Love trapped them in a windowless room, with nothing but each other who they promised to cherish forever.

Yang Seo-jun, you're bleeding ink on my bland sheet of life.

She was full of energy and charisma when he'd first met her.
With locks of golden cascading down like waterfalls to her shoulders and her waist.

Yang Seo-jun, you're the wordless meaning to my empty dictionary.

Her eyes twinkled like the reflection of moonlight in water, with russet coloured eyes that were pools of honey in the beautiful summer sun.

They found love in summer, both of thinking of the connection as dalliance, short-lived and happy.

But time passed too, the essence of autumn entering, with its auburn leaves and half burnt trees. And thst is exactly how Chaeyoung's love was.

Mozzafiato voice with stardust sprinkled in his eyes, sun-kissed skin as he brightened Chaeyoung's life.

He fell for her like an autumn leaf would, crushed beneath her utterly, devastatingly lovely persona. She was the kind to storm he would run after, the kind he'd chase till he himself got wrapped up in a tornado of emotions and words.

He was the shimmering moonlight to her utter silent waters, lighting up her deepest depths with his smile.

But the harsh bite of winter didn't escape them either, and Chaeyoung never stopped wanting the warmth, the snow like skin contrasting with the hail that hit the roof like boulders, with an inch of a blood drop that hung on her lips like the last taste of wine.

She was a beautiful solasta sky in his bland life.

He was a beautiful blindfold in her world of artifice.

Chaeyoung was an angel with her wings ripped but heart as gold, he the painful storm that'd snatch her heart away in the most painfully beautiful way.

Seo-jun would write about her, under an auburn tree, bleeding words on paper.

   ❝  She speaks to me fondly of            passion, guitars and stars
      And apologises for even  speaking at all
       All because somewhere
Someone once broke her heart
       People aren't born sad
We make them that way
       And I never want to do that
Because she is a piece of art ❞

And thus weaved themselves into the most beautiful canvas ever, of lapis blue skies with striking thunderstorms, with crepe coloured evenings fading into dove painted dusks, with a vivid saturation of sunrise that started their story.

But here they were now.

Broken threads with no chance of being mended back. Twigs of branches broken into two.

The diamond ring shimmered on the ground, near the drain, watered.

I    d o n t    l o v e    y o u    n o w

"Why?" She whispered to herself as she let her kohl run down her cheeks freely, hands pulling at her hair.

She ran. She ran after a good one hour of a shower filled with warmth her heart craved so dearly, and now the cold rain hit her again, only this time, was she fully under the effect of the heartbreaking drug she called amorè.

The rain abhorred her subconscious, making her act solely by her gut, which shrieked at her to escape.

"Never let me go," the whisper echoed in the empty, wet streets and she screamed, her legs giving out.

He'd promised her back then.

He'd agreed.

And now she was broken, pleading  even though it burned her soul from the inside our, ripped her heart right our of her.

She begged.

She used to paint. A lot. Back in the days when she had nobody to hold her close. The canvas was her company in those cloudy, melancholy days.

Countless paintings of thunderstorms.

She painted thunderstorms more than anything.

It was a gentle yet subtle reminder for her that even skies would thrash and scream, all burdened with the weight of lost and unfulfilled dreams.

She wished she could paint him too.

She wished she could paint the way she thought; obsessively, incessantly, with maddening hunger.

She would paint to the point of suffocation.

She'd paint herself into nervous breakdowns, splashes of colours spiralling out like tentacles into abysmal nothing.

And she'd paint for him a lot more than she would for herself.

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ok im in love with this

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