hell or flying | Chaelisa

Chapter 23

I no longer frequented visits to YG, at least not currently. With Chanyeol now being in Seoul for a week, there was no reason for me to visit his office, or anyone else's, for that matter. Until he was gone, I would steer away from the tall building.

And though I knew the choices I've made recently were the right ones, I was bored. Incredibly so, actually. I used to be used to not having anything to do to fill my days, but after reconnecting with the people of my past, I started to enjoy human company again.

Whenever I would have time, I would either call them or even visit (in secret, of course) and spend my days in their company. However, I could no longer do that now and I found it to be hard to keep myself occupied after getting used to having a companion.

I would've gone outside, left the city for the day, and rewind, but suddenly, walking the woods alone didn't sound appealing at all. The truth was, I was lonely. And spending my day completely by myself, surrounded by only the trees or tall building, sounded lonelier than usual.

Really, any activity, even if just going to a museum or art gallery wasn't intriguing at all once I realized I would be alone. I briefly considered asking Michael to join me and keep me company, but after giving it some thought, I realized just how desperate that would be.

It was the truth, Michael was the only person I could talk to, but at the end of the day, he was just an employee of my husband. Sure, he was friendly and agreed with me on certain topics, but our relationship would be nothing more than a professional one. He would never be someone I could consider a friend because it just simply wasn't in the job description. And who would want to spend their days in the company of someone like me? Not even I did, so I couldn't expect anyone else to.

I spent the morning cooped up in bed and then later, playing the guitar for a bit, singing whatever came to my mind. The lyrics Jennie had given me were no longer in my possession, so I had to improvise. Not that it presented a problem, I wouldn't be able to play along to, let alone sing, any of the songs. Certainly not when, despite the words not being mine, they cut deep as if it was my soul that birthed them.

Things were different now, and I found it kind of ironic. Like I came a full circle, but not necessarily in a good way. It wasn't in a way where things started looking up for me. It was more of a returning to my roots kind of situation, while still trapped in the new life where no "roots" really existed anymore.

What I meant by that was the guitar. The magnificent wooden instrument that wasn't even mine. I used to walk past it fairly quickly when I passed it, not even sparing a glance in its direction because even that much made me feel a pang in my chest. Somewhere along the way, the one thing that was my remedy became the exact opposite. A sort of impair to the heart.

But that changed recently, and though I regretted letting myself believe things could be alright again, that I allowed myself to hope, at least some good came out of it. I wanted to be strong again, to be able to deal with my demons in a way that wouldn't bring me any more destruction. And though it wasn't easiest, and at first it was painful to hear its sound, knowing my soul took the lead and spoke what I was afraid to, it became easier.

It still wasn't easy, and I wasn't quite used to it. Heck, I was not even anywhere near as good as I once used to. Of course, I haven't forgotten how to play, but I was out of shape and messed up a lot. But I didn't mind. I used to get shy and berate myself for messing up, but I no longer felt the same. I accepted the mistakes for what they were - an inevitable part of me.

So though it hurt at times, I felt like I finally made some progress by picking up the old hobby. And I even surprised myself by still sticking to it after everything that happened. After all, I spent the entire morning strumming the strings of the guitar, completely oblivious to the indefinite continued progress of existence. I was in my little world, where for once, I let myself feel and express what I feared to show with my eyes. A place where I allowed myself to grieve over my losses, no matter how right or inexorable they were.