MUSE | A Wangxian drabble.
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Warning: Major Character death.
This drabble includes: Immortal Wei Ying, Poet Lan zhan, Dead Lan zhan, angst but make it poetic, inspired by poetry (Iamnotapoet), love letter, this entire fic is a love letter, first person pov of wei ying.
Summery: Immortal Wei Ying falls in love with Lan Wangji, a Navy Soldier and poet. His faith catches onto him and he looses his love, down to the ocean. In order to forever engrave Lan Wangji's face in his mind, Wei Ying makes paintings and sculptures of him, waiting for the eternal end where he can get a glimpse of him again...
Word count: 969
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M U S E
Lan Zhan, my dear,
The smell of soil after a drizzle, the sound of leaves grumbling with the wind, the sight of the sun setting under a blanket of purple and orange clouds, the taste of fresh water after a run, nothing can compare to the feeling of your skin against mine.
I don't remember when my life began, I don't see it ending anytime soon either. However, I remember one thing, when your eyes met mine, I felt the most alive.
You were frowning, I was not. I met you on a whim, in the midst of an adventure, but I forgot my purpose when I caught a glimpse of you; your brunette hair flowing with the wind.
You sat straight viewing the vast ocean in front of you, the sunset in front resembled your hazel eyes. Oh, you were breathtaking. I had gathered my courage to approach you, and with God's wish, I had succeeded.
And since then, I remember my days clearly.
At first glance, one might assume you were somewhat of a crude man, even I assumed the same. However, you were as gentle as a lily on a lake, your soft gaze, kind laughs and gentle kisses kept me awake at nights. Even during the sleepless nights, you laid by my side. Then I would admire your lips, your eyes, your pretty scar on your left cheek and you would chuckle.
Your chuckles were my favourite, it still is. It will forever be.
When I look out into the sunset, I see your eyes. When I make my way to the market and come across the water lily on the lake, it only reminds me of your touch, your fragrance.
Pity me, for falling for a sailor, a soldier, a poet and a writer. You were all those things, but to me, you were always my friend, my family and my lover.
You had pages after pages of poems about my eyes, I had a hut full of paintings of your face. How can we be so different and similar at the same time? As if, you were the full moon who only shows up every twenty eight days, where me, the sun, waited to meet you everyday.
Pity me, for waiting for you still, knowing you will never reach the shore.
Pity me, for being a widower without ever eloping with you, my love.
My love,
You were the one I would paint with, laugh with, the one I was willing to die with. If only I had known, you would never return, I would’ve drowned myself in you, with you.
Dying with the earth seems to be a blessing to an outsider, only I know, how much of a curse that is, how dying and lying beside your astray grave is more peaceful than living forever with the thought of you gone from this world.
Why? Why must I suffer? Why must I be cursed with such a power?
I remember very less, my family, their image is something I can’t seem to recall. I only linger with their voices and some words they have written down; I cherish them. My acquaintances from childhood, I neither remember their faces nor their names. They have escaped my memory; like wind flows through spring.
However, I can not bear to forget you. Forgetting you is equal to losing the most precious treasure of my life. I can’t bear it.
Slowly, my little hut became your shrine. The painting of you, your details that only I know of, your smile that only I saw, your gaze that only I received, each moment, each fond memory ended up on wrinkled paper with paint made from berries you and I planted together. Your face, body, hands, I captured them in soil from the island I first met you on.
Tears roll down my freckled cheeks as I sculpt your face, from memory that is as vivid as my dreams of you. The softness of the soil can not justify your soft skin, however I had to make do of what I had. As my fingers go over your jaw, I almost expect the lifeless sculpture to smile and tell me “I love you,” like you used to. Oh, how I wish that came true! How I wish I could sculpt you back to life!
All I, a hopeless man, can do is wish for something that is not meant to stay mine.
God gifted me you for only thirteen years, equal to spec of dust in a desert compared to my lifetime. However, how pathetic am I to hold onto that for the rest of eternity? Hold onto a grain of sand and think of it as my desert?
Even the sunset in a desert reminds me of your eyes.
My lips have gone chapped, by kissing the hard stone that I made into your lips. My fingers have calluses from moulding your pretty face out of the soil. My cheek now has the same scar you had, whilst mine was intentional. All my clothes have the same paint stains as the hundreds of paintings I made of you.
I would rather die than forget you, I wouldn’t let you be the gust of wind that flows through spring, that blows through my mind in a few years.
I don’t know when My time will come, but when I will get to meet you, if I do, I want you to look at me the same way you did for thirteen years. With your eye-smile, with your blushed ears and with a tight hug.
I will forever wait for that day, while I spend my life recreating you in every art form there is.
Except poetry, as you were the best at that.
