Jimin p.o.v
I wish upon,
--
On November 22nd,
You were officially diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease.
I pondered what else to write, but nothing else came.
"I can't do this, Yoongi." I grumbled at the neurosurgeon sitting in front of me.
"Jimin, it's a good exercise for your symptoms and besides, having a memory journal is beneficial to one's mental health." He carefully explained.
I felt as if I was mental myself.
》
On October 27th,
You met the boy whom you love so deeply, Jeon Jungkook.
On November 1st,
You kissed his cheek for the first time. He kissed two of his fingers and placed them on your lips. You wished he'd kiss you with his lips instead.
On November 3rd,
You brought him to the park where the cherry blossoms never died and the forget me nots never withered. He hugged you for the first time.
On November 4th,
You were going to ask him out on a date, but you forgot the words. Stupid, forgetful, you.
On November 5th,
You failed to save Jung Hosoek from death.
On November 21st,
Jeon Jungkook left.
》
I closed the light blue notebook, looking one last time at the latest entry, trying to burn it to memory.
I've been staying closely behind Yoongi as Namjoon found out about my disease and told me not to conduct anymore surgeries.
I wonder how Jungkook is doing and whether he's found a nice place to live.
He lives in an art studio, Yoongi had reminded me. Another thing I'd noted somewhere in my journal. The notebook was intended for my favourite words, but I'd turned it into my life. Yet if I think about it, it's indeed filled with memories and words I want to remember, all kissing the lines of the pages.
After finishing his shift, Yoongi decided to take us out to a restaurant for lunch. I myself didn't have an appetite, but I didn't want to resist his gummy smile.
"Here's your menu, gentlemen," the waiter declared and left with clicking feet.
I looked at the various dishes, not feeling hungry at any of them. While I was searching the menu, I heard a loud man two tables beside us.
I looked up to see him yelling at a frantic looking women, asking him to,
"believe me! I am your wife, I am not lying!"
She grabbed hold of his arm, trying to press him closer to her, but he refused to be grabbed.
"I-I don't know you, get away from me!" He yelled.
Many of the other people started inching away from the distasteful scene and whispering to each other. Some were even recording with their cell phones.
The man suddenly grabbed his fork and attempted to stab her with it. The women screamed and begged for him to stop. Within seconds, staff members came and took them both away.
"What the hell was that," I muttered.
Yoongi faced the menu again, refusing to meet my eyes.
"He had Alzheimer's." He quietly said.
"How can you be so sure? M-maybe he just got mind fucked for a second. . ." My voice trailed off.
"He was wearing the bracelet indicating he did."
Oh.
I refused to wear the bracelet Yoongi had told me about the day I'd been diagnosed. It looked so stupid.
But one day, that could be me. And if I wouldn't be wearing the medic bracelet, then everyone else would think I was a mad man.
And not a man madly in love.
Would I forget how to love? How to feel?
Suddenly I wasn't hungry anymore and decided to wait outside until Yoongi had finished eating.
I tapped my feet along the pavement, looking at the various people whizzing by.
My eyes travelled to a small boy telling his mum he would be right back.
He ran over to a bed of flowers planted beside me and bent down to pluck a few flowers.
When he saw me staring, he looked at his few flowers and then back at me.
Just as I was about to look away, he plucked a flower from his hand and handed it to me with a grin.
And with that, he trotted away in his red scarf and blue jacket, back to his mum.
》
Yoongi dropped me off at my place, telling me for the hundredth time to call him if I needed anything. He even wrote his number again on a slip of paper, as if it wasn't saved in my phone already.
Without even taking my shoes, I let my body fall on my bed, clutching my journal to my chest,
forgetting to switch off my desk lamp.
I sighed and got up to go to my desk.
Unlike my office at the hospital, which was filled with photographs all around, my room had only a calendar taped in front of my desk.
My eyes landed upon the flower the little boy had given to me. It was so beautiful and I didn't want it to wither away.
So I took out my thick blue journal and placed the flower in the middle of it. And then I closed the journal tightly, letting the flower press between the pages and have it survive a little longer.
Just as I was about to turn the lamp off, a thought punctured my brain, hitting it like a bullet.
In the darkness of the room, with faint blue and red sirens dancing along the walls and then disappearing,
my mind thought of the final blow that would prevent fate from fucking up my life even more,
from preventing it to allow me to cause others any more pain,
and myself.
I sat in my desk chair, leather refusing to comfort my spine and flipped to the final page of the notebook, pen gripped in my hand.
And I wrote myself a letter.
And another. And another.
But they all weren't good enough so I ripped them out and threw them away.
After half an hour, I finally managed to write one that I'd be satisfied with.
But I wrote another one, this one a bit more personal.
Once I was done, refusing to let my eyes read over it again,
I placed the pressed flower in the pages which contained my two letters, letting it preserve against the dried ink.
And I placed it inside the drawer.
And went to sleep,
wondering,
why hellos
always brought goodbyes.
--
this cruel fate.
