Jaemin the Icy Prince and Me - Na Jaemin NCT

41. Everything Reminds Me of You

I write this, sitting on my balcony.

I woke up a while ago.

Waking up is the worst time for me, Jaemin my love. Almost before I open my eyes, I feel this great weight, this heaviness press down on me.

There was a time long ago, when I couldn't wait to get up. I couldn't wait to see you, to run out the front gate where your arms waited for me.

It's strange how cold I feel these days walking to school, and back from school. When I walk to school, my left side feels so cold, and I can feel the chill, numbing wind. When I walk home from school, my right side feels cold, and I feel the same arctic wind, the icy draught of air. You know why, don't you, Jaemin? It's because you're not there next to me anymore. 

But sometimes I pretend that you're there, walking with me. My phantom Jaemin and I hold hands together, and we linger along each twist and turn of that narrow winding path that leads away from, and to our homes. It's pathetic, isn't it? "You're such an idiot, Kim Mina," that's what you'd say, and you'd kiss me, and hug me, and hold me close to you.

I start conversations in school leading up to you, to the mention of you. I feel myself going red each time, and I wonder whether anyone notices. 

The other day, Junnie said casually, "Did you hear there's a school visit to some ancient ruins somewhere, some Joseon remnants? The list is out, all you have to do is sign up, and pay up. I'm thinking of going..." 

And I said, cunningly, "Oh, is it open to the whole school?" 

"The older students," she said, "I hear Leean's going...he's kind of cute." And my heart started to thump, and I said, "Oh, is his class going?" 

"Leean and Jaemin and his gang, and Jaemin's girlfriend, they're on the list of confirmed people going..." She looked at me and said, "Do you want to go? I didn't ask you, because I thought it'd be kind of awkward...I mean, you and Jaemin..." 

"I told you, Jaemin and me are over, we were just pretending, that's all. Sara's his girlfriend, he doesn't need me anymore to pretend, he's got the real deal now..." 

She looked at me for a long instant, patted me, and said, "Okay, as long as you're fine...I'm relieved to hear you're okay."

I keep telling myself not to speak of you again, and then an opportunity arises, and I plunge straight into it, like a fool. 

Everything connected to you makes my heart skip a beat: your classroom, some random guy walking past in a blue sports jersey, because it's similar to the blue jersey you wear for physical exercise, your locker, Number 42, the seat in the cafetaria you used to hog, the bento box Mum packed for me yesterday, even the metal railing beside the storeroom, because I saw you perched on it, and sitting there reading a book by yourself one quiet afternoon.

Everything reminds me of you.

Every time I hear someone mention your name, it's like a little present to me. Jaemin this. Jaemin that. Na Jaemin did this. Na Jaemin did that. I long to say your name myself, but I can't, so I keep it curbed on my tongue, secret in my mouth, captured in my throat, and I say it out loud in the quietude of my room. 

Jaemin. Na Jaemin. Jaemin. Na Jaemin.

Yesterday, I had the oddest dream. I was half-asleep on our bench. It was a bright, yellow afternoon, one of those afternoons where it's hard to tell when a dream ends, and reality begins. I don't know what it was that woke me, but I opened my eyes drowsily, and there you were, in front of me.

"Hello." I murmured, my voice slurred.

"Hello," you said softly, standing there so tall, looking down at me.

"Are you real, or are you a dream?" I whispered.

"Which do you want me to be?" You knelt down next to me, and said softly, trailing a finger lightly over my lips, the way you used to do, stirring my hair with your warm breath.

"A dream, of course, silly," I sighed.

"Why?"

"Because being with you is more painful than being away from you, Na Jaemin..."

I closed my eyes, and I felt something warm and moist on my lips, feathery-soft, like gossamer. I drifted back to sleep, and when I woke up, I was alone. My lips were curved in a smile, and I could still feel them tingle with the lingering touch of your phantom kiss...

I've almost filled my entire page with words. It's odd how very prolific I've become with my broken heart. I could hardly write a page before, without dozing off; I was always impatient to seize the day, to grasp the wonderful, exciting things waiting for me around the corner.

I think I've aged, Jaemin, these past two months. I'm 16, going on 60, going on 600. I am an old soul trapped in this young body. I used to think that the world was filled with endless possibilities. But I've lost all that zest for life now. I don't see the promise anymore. All I see are sadness, and melancholy. 

It's almost dawn.

A mist is forming, casting a hazy fog of white over the silence and the stillness. Why is moonlight mist so dreamy and romantic, and early morning mist so heartbreakingly sad?

So, here I am, sitting down on this cold, hard balcony, penning my final thoughts about my broken heart, in the hope that words can heal it. Here I am, sitting on this cold, lonely balcony, watching the early rays of dawn break over the inky blackness of the sky. 

There are two of me in me: the me imprisoned in yesterday, and the me sitting here on this balcony. Past me and present me. Soon, there will be a third me, future me, who will get up, and shower, and change, and go down and eat my breakfast, and walk my long and lonely path to school, the me who is the least certain of all, who doesn't know what is going to happen next.

Only two inches left to write on now.

I love you. I love you. I love you.