19 (💑😏), 14 (😍❤️), 11 (😇👏🏻) and 2 (😴) // BECAUSE YOU ALSO SENT ME MORE THAN ONE OKAY
✨ the way you said i love you!! ∙ ∙ ∙ wuju like, @yuniveas?
perhaps, in retrospect, he shouldn’t have gone.
perhaps, in retrospect, she shouldn’t have begged him to go either.
the blankets aren’t warm enough to make her feel secure- instead it becomes a tool used in vain to keep them patched together, holding her breath underneath as moonlight drifts over their forms through the small gaps of the blinds.
it hurts in this moment to look at him and she can’t make herself to do so. a tiny tilt of the head is all it takes yet she doesn’t tip back. she’ll bottle her feelings (it’s nothing new) and won’t peep a single syllable in the midst of tangled limbs and fingertips twisted in the unruly strands of raven black hair. she’s not good with expressing to him when she’s having a difficult time, coats herself in pride for being strong and possessing an amp control of emotions. a plethora of it is what she feels, drowning herself in an an ocean of thoughts. its’ weight pulls her down, tugging until she’s numb and unable to breathe. with the short amount of time spent in each other’s solace, she’s quickly gotten his quirks memorized and quite frankly, she hates it. she hates the fact that she knows him so accurately, from being able to nitpick what he’s thinking albeit being a sputtering mess, or hearing the shattering thoughts of worry in between the loud gaps of silence.
he doesn’t go to her at 3 in the morning for nothing and she knows he’ll leave it to her to fix whatever it is that’s broken (everything). the scent of alcohol intermingles with his musky scent, arms wrapped securely around his shoulders when he tells her he needs to go. the tone of his voice is cold and she feels the ice piercing through the little strength she has left. she’s holding out on a thin line of vulnerability, weakness ployed out for him to hold onto. the idea of leaving everything behind, what she knows he’s trying to hint, it silently tears her apart.
she struggles to get the words out from her chest, bitter against the back of her tongue as the black coffee she forces herself to take each morning before training. she’s hit with a hurricane of tears when they line the brim of her lids, falling slowly, all at once. she reaches out desperately with outstretched fingers, a heavy, suffocating warmth swelling at the base of her throat until she’s shuddering, “가.. 가자마.”
if this is love, why does it break me down?
