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« 🥀 » 𝐜𝚑. 10

-͟͟͞͞➳ 𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐢𝐚

(𝑛.) 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑗𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑦 𝑜𝑓 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑛𝑒'𝑠 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑑, ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡, 𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓, 𝑜𝑟 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑜𝑓 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒.

Bomi sits on the blue bean bag chair on the rooftop. Nothing has changed there besides the lack of a warm presence in the bean bag next to her. It's still dark out, the morning rays just starting to curl across the starlit sky.

She watches the city below her, her headphones in and playing music.

"Ethan," she says to the empty rooftop. "I miss you."

The song shifts, and a lilting melody starts to play.

Bomi's eyes squeeze shut in painstaking familiarity.

Ethan's favorite song.

If alternate realities were true

I'd be on my way home next to you

Waiting for the chatter to cease

Careless about who I had to please

If alternate realities were true

I'd drift among the rowed pews

Counting my prayers to the sky

Lips never forming a sigh

If alternate realities were true

I'd paint my whole world in hues

So the stars glistened uncovered

Like the clasped hands of two lovers

If alternate realities were true

I'd ask the world for a clue

And it would answer back to me

And say I am now truly free.

If alternate realities were true

I hope you'll be there, too.

"Ethan." She blinks back a tear. "Thank you, so much."

A drop of water lands on her cheek, then the tip of her nose. A light rain starts to sprinkle across the city. The rain cradles her face as she tilts her head skywards and the cool drops kiss her tears away. It's indiscernible whether the drops on her face are from the rain or her own, but it's better that way for Bomi.

The color of their love was never a fiery red. Love, for them, was the golden of the sun's earliest rays. It was the rosiness of the dawn, watching from their rooftop. Love, for them, was the deepest blue of the night sky, and the light of the stars sprinkled across it.

Love, for them, was the color of every carefully crafted painting sitting on her windowsill, leaning against the wall and sitting on her desk.

Love, for them, was the color of an eternity unique to only them that no one else could ever replicate, and as the song ends and the next one starts to play to the gentle beat of the rain, Bomi is content with watching the world move on.

꧁ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐃 ꧂

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡ ⋆｡

This is the end! I'm... sorry about Ethan, I swear I cried so much while writing this story.

I'm also sorry I sort of abandoned posting the chapters in the middle, but hey, at least I've done it now.

Thank you to everyone who read this short story. Love you all!

- 𝓛𝔂