If I died seven years earlier, would you still go back in time to save me from dying? Or if, perhaps, I was not able to save you from death, would we be able to see each other in the afterlife? I started to realize that everything between us is nothing but death: something that did us part, yet somehow reunite us in a way you couldn’t remember — but I reminisced it forever.
Love was never meant for us to dwell in. It was a strange feeling that turned into attachment — which I was the only one who felt it and lived in it for fifteen years . Love was never meant for us to feel, moreover to hold if possible. The love I had for you was once a huge, strange kind of feeling which happened to keep me alive for fifteen years —which I hoped it would also keep me from being gone and forgotten for you.
We were living the lives we thought it was better to die rather than survive, and we both weren’t there for each other to tell to keep ourselves sane all the time. I survived my fifteen years of life hoping you could remember me, and when that false hope of mine started to reach its reality, I was all alive again, only to be dead a million times harder than I once tried to be.
The day we crossed paths under the sudden drench of downpour, that moment certainly gave all of these questions an answer. Whether or not we were able to change fate by a single encounter … still, Darling, I would still save you from dying — even if it means you could never remember my name, even if it means my fifteen years of love could never reach you again; let me save you from dying, again, again and again — and then, let the world lead you the way to turn back in time and save me from dying, all over again.
Even if it means my fifteen years of love could never reach you, I would still be the same nineteen-year-old me with many shivered dreams trying to catch you from falling.
