To

Green

To (you)

Even if you can’t see anymore,

I’ll pull you down into my arms

and let the bit of residual heat

slowly trickle into its own sea.

Why, I’ll bring you to a beach

and we can walk along the sand.

I know you love romantic views,

I do.

So cry if you want. Hurt me if you want.

I know the pain I feel stings your heart.

Maybe those stagnant feelings will once again, greet me.

Yeah. I love you.

When you look down at this world,

I know it isn’t monochrome like you say.

I know that because even you can feel the yellow sunlight on your skin, that dances along your fingertips that try to grasp it.

Nothing avoids you, rather it is you who flinches away.

“If anything were to bite you, it would be yourself,” I laugh and guide you into the soft embrace of the light.

You’d wear a wan smile, and ask me why I’d waste all my time with you.

It stings.

It wouldn’t be a waste of time, spending it with a you who lets themselves live freely rather than you, who spends their life bedridden.

I wanted to ask you instead; why you always force yourself into that wheelchair— you don’t need it anymore.

But it’s funny. I have never regretted them, my decisions.

When I tell you I love you, you look at me straight in the eyes and say there is static in your ears.

I know you’re a liar, but it doesn’t matter because I would still date one.

I know about the history behind every cut on your arm. I know why there are bottles of wine and cans of beer strewn all over the apartment— I know why you never bothered to clean them up.

And I know that in reality, there were no bottles and there are no cuts or scars.

But they existed in some way or another because in the end you had to shut your eyes, cover your ears and muffle yourself with your blanket.

I know that you are afraid of too many emotions to count. I know you are disgusted when you shut yourself off.

So I have taken to writing sappy things to you because I know you’ll forget you used to love them.

I know I can’t create the life you want.

Yet I continue to wish I wasn’t the one behind, pushing you across the marble floors.

Maybe these sweet words will sway you, someday.

When they do, come find me without that wheelchair,

I’ll confess again.

Maybe, in that moment, we won’t be sharing the pain anymore.

Sincerely,

•Soona•