That day, when I saw you climbing the rooftop stairs, I felt the ground sag. No, no. I repeated these words as I followed you, trying to stop you. The thoughts that passed through my mind in those few seconds were incredibly cruel.
So, when I finally held you tightly in my arms, can you imagine how I felt?
My poor lover. How many times did I kiss your wrist? It was a kind of prayer I offered you. Please don't hurt yourself, don't be in pain. I hoped you would love yourself someday. I also hoped you would love me. You, who didn't know how to love yourself, said you loved me and hurt me. It hurt so much that I begged you later. Please stop self-harming. I even attempted suicide. I was always anxious. The slightest twist in your face felt like something would explode. At one point, instead of hugging you, I found myself grabbing your wrist.
I tried to fill your emptiness, constantly tearing and melting my heart, pouring it into you. Your heart was infinitely deep and hollow, and it couldn't be easily filled. Unsatisfied, you hugged me. Then you whispered your love, and it tore at my heart. You took my heart, handful by handful. It was such a violent confession. I couldn't respond to it. My stomach churned so much that I couldn't push you away or even hug you back.
Everything felt like a trick of God. Your misfortune, our meeting. Just saying it was coincidence wasn't enough. Fate was a better word. Our connection was the reason we were born, or destiny. Anyway, isn't that kind of thing acting like gravity, pulling you and me into the abyss?
I tried to break up with you several times. This relationship, which only got worse without improving, was exhausting me. Something inside me muttered, "Let go. Let go. Let go. Run away." I leave you behind,