❛ things like us only exist in dreams. ❜
from x / no longer accepting
“things like us only exist in dreams,” she says softly.
it’s not a question, it’s a statement.
“why can’t good things like us ever last long?”
yeoreum fixates her gaze on the field of grass before them, then on the constellations above them. but never on minnie’s face.
it’s easier to pretend that she’s fine when she doesn’t have to see grief clouding minnie’s expression, staining her shoulders, or settling between the bones of a body that yeoreum thinks is far too young to bear this kind of suffering.
“i’m tired of waiting, minnie. aren’t you?”
“of what?” she queries, hesitantly.
“for people to realize that they cannot hope for fate’s hands to be softer, or to be more thoughtful. i’m tired of blaming everything around us,” she pauses, “to be the reason for bending all we love, and eventually breaking them—for breaking us.”
“but we can’t run from fate, yeoreum…”
despite being on the verge of tears, she almost, almost, laughs. of course she knows; she knows better than anyone else that the two of them can’t outrun fate. they’ve tried, and just like everyone else who to do so before them, they’ve failed.
“no, we… cannot. fate will always pull us towards things that are supposed to happen, but… just because something is supposed to happen, it doesn’t mean that it will. we,” she takes the younger girl’s hand in both of her own, “let us fall apart.” when she lets go of minnie’s hand, she feels like she’s let their thousand shared promises for a tomorrow they dreamed so desperately of, slip from fingertips.
i tried, i tried, i tried. she wants to scream, but all that comes out instead, weakly, is a question. “it feels like it’s impossible to forget pain, doesn’t it?” her fingers brush over the thin layer of cotton separating skin from her scar. “but it’s even harder to remember what sweetness feels like. happiness leaves no marks on us.”
“will you remember me, minnie…? will you remember how i loved you?”
she hears minnie begin to cry, and that makes her stop. she inhales, but regrets it a second later because now all she can breathe in is dead, hopeless air. it suffocates her.
now it’s her turn for the walls she built during her childhood to come crashing down, but she can’t let them do that. not here. not in front of minnie. it’s the last good thing she’ll be able do for her friend.
she knows it’s not enough. sorry is never enough.
“i dreamed that it’d get easier for you.”
yeoreum is lying. in her dream, she sees minnie collapse and crumble on herself too many times in a week to be be considered healing—to even be considered living. she knows that minnie, too, already knows she won’t be the same after this. but neither of them say anything because it could never make a difference. words will never be enough.
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