ILU wifey&hubbly.

Start Afresh

Wed, 11 Jun 2008 13:09:22 GMT

I am moving! DDD:

Please find me at my new account, urisarang! If you're one of my friends and I've not re-added you, please feel free to add me without dropping a comment. The new link is my personal journal and is friends only. There will be a link to my writing journal, so fear not (if you had any fears in the first place)!

See you around!

Your Daily Dose of Angst.

Mon, 31 Dec 2007 15:20:53 GMT

Title: The Tears Inside
Rating: PG [just in case]
A/N: Shh! You didn't hear anything!

-----

There is the rhythmic noise of dripping.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

And yet none hear the sound of a faulty heart. The faint drip, drip, drip sounds distant as everyone else is too pre-occupied and too busy to hear. And yet there remains the faint drip, drip, drip, irrevocably present and waiting. It is the sound of a bleeding heart, with wounds too deep to heal. The eternity will spend its days listening to the faint drip, drip,drip of a broken heart. A faulty heart.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

A heart made to love, broken by lies, stabbed by knives of ill-expressions, torn apart by words of hatred. A gentle, fragile heart, made to care and to worry, destroyed and destructed by the malice hidden behind genteel smiles and masquerade masks. There is no secret to killing a heart, the answer is simple. Human nature kills the porcelain like heart, the loud crashing of the breaking, there is no use trying to salvage the heart.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

There, in the busy world which we call our homes, there is the faint dripping, reminding us of the tears inside. The tears we bear. The frustration and fury which we contain, the hurt and pain we allow ourselves to nurse, the happiness stale. The faint dripping we set aside grows louder as we feign ignorance. The faint dripping sound remains, as it always will be, the tears inside.

-----

A/N: If anyone understood that, kudos to you. It's the indescribable emotion that I feel in me. The dripping noise and the tears inside. It's rather confusing and to my eyes, even I have a hard time understanding, but I can feel it inside, so its not as hard for, as the one holding that beating heart, to understand.

Love Her

Thu, 27 Dec 2007 15:13:51 GMT

Title: Love Her
Rating: PG-13 [contains kissing]
Pairing(s): Mainly Donghae/OC, slight mention of Yoochun/OC
Disclaimer(s): I do not own Park Yoochun, Lee Donghae, Ben Jelen's 'Christine' or Mun Ami. Thank you all very much.
A/N: Written as an apology for Amy unnie! Chongmal cheoseonghamnida! I didn't mean to delay the recent chapter so much!

-----

"Donghae yah," I try to focus on the task at hand, my English Literature assignment that was due in several days time.

"Hmm?" I try to sound as though I'm not listening at all, because in fact, I'm simply waiting for her to tell me she doesn't love anyone anymore, that she loves me. That she will come to me. However, I know I wish for too much, my expectations are far too high. I know she will never love me, because she will always have someone else, man or woman, it's never been me.

"I think I'm in love again."

---

"C'mon, Donghae, you know I always love you."

Lies. All of her lies. She says she loves me and I suppose, in a way she does, but she takes my heart when she says she always loves me. She takes my heart and tears it viciously in two, because she doesn't know how much her words make me want to believe we can love each other the way I want us to. Because it's too painful when she tells me she still loves me, despite loving someone else. I want to believe that one day, she will love me. She will love me so much that I want her to stop even. Yet the day never comes, like an endless tomorrow, I keep believing, wishing, breathing for the day she will love me.

---

"Donghae yah..." I watch her from my window, the rain blurring her slumped figure. I can hear the connection crackling as the water pours down on her cell phone. The way she clutches tightly onto his jacket sleeves. The way his is the name that she bears on her back. The way I can only watch as she sits there, the tears blending with the hail we call rain. I want to run forth, to protect her from him, but she's too much in love. It's a different person from before. This time, he is the school jock, the most popular and sought after guy on the school's varsity team. And yet he chose to torture her. The one I love. He is simply another one of the obstacles I face. And I know she loves him more than she will love me. And I know she has given too much of her heart once more. And I know she will continue give her heart away, until there's nothing left for me.

She loves the whole damn world, but she just won't love me.

---

"Hey, girl!" I hear them call, everywhere we go, there is someone hounding after her. I don't know if its because of her countless loves, the way she allows her heart to be taken by people who will just fool with her heart. I'm not sure if her fame is because of her countless break-ups and heartaches. I can't be certain if it's because she's a slut to them, or if it's because they pity her, that's why they love her. But the whole world loves her. The whole world loves her but it's never, never enough. The world cannot love her enough or more than I love her. And when we part for our classes, the world stops spinning. Everything freezes, even time, as I wait for her to return. The world has to have her to be a world. Without her, it remains a globe of life, unmoving.

And as I see her text messages of cancelled dates again, I feel my life shutting down. Because I can never live without her. I feel everything stopping. And like Adam when he falls asleep, I believe I'm dying again.

---

It was just one moment, just a split second and I could tell, I was to regret introducing Yoochun to her.

"Wow, I know exactly what you mean when you say she's probably the best thing that ever happened to the world!" I feel hatred bubbling within me, clouding the love I feel for her. I wanted at that very moment to kill him, to strangle him, to turn back time and decide never to introduce them. I'm the only one who is ever fit to love her, who can love her enough for her insatiable needs. I'm the only one who can love her enough to want to be there for her every time she falls. And I'm the only one who loves her enough to watch her and help her stand up on her own. I'm the only one who can love her enough to want to protect her but teach her to protect herself.

---

"I'm staying over tonight," she announces as she packs her bag and waits for me patiently. I cannot help but feel something spark within me. I'm too excited to express the emotions that are pulsing through me right now as I try to muster the courage to tell her my heart, to give my heart to her as she gave hers to many others. I try to convince myself it will not hurt when my heart shatters to the ground, untaken for the umpteeth time.

---

Taking her hand in mine, I watch the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest as she sleeps. Her eyes are closed tightly and this is the only time when she will love me back. The only time that as I love her, I don't feel as though she doesn't love me back. Because when she's asleep, she loves me as much as I want her to. As I hover over her, her constant inhales and exhales make her whispered breath for on my skin. I savour the light feeling and try to remain as calm as I can. I try not to whoop with joy and wake her, because when she's awake, she doesn't love me anymore. I'd just come in to check if she was still awake and immediately, as if I have no self-control, everything slips out of my hands. Brushing my lips lightly against hers, I pull away to memorise the sweet taste. And I brush my lips against hers again, ever so lightly, like butterfly touches. And again. Again. Again. Again. Because I know I can never stop.

---

And as I write down another stroke to complete her name once more, I reminisce and count the number of times I've done this. This is the most recent heartbreak that I feel has been immortalised as part of her beautiful but simple name. I watch as she sits, staring dazedly into blank space. I can already tell what she's about to say and I don't even bother waiting for her to tell me, I ask. I ask and allow my heart to shatter seconds earlier before it is due to.

"Are you in love again?"

"Donghae yah, you know me best."

"Who is it?"

"His name is Lee Donghae."

Are we headed for nowhere? As she smiles at me dreamily, I can't help but count. This is the 7th time she's fallen for someone with a name like mine. I smile and I pretend. I pretend that its me she loves. That I am the Lee Donghae she's spoken of.

-----

Err... Kind of pointless, but I hope this makes up for my lack of updates, unnie! Saranghamnida! Look! It's Yoochun! As my mood theme! Sorry I couldn't really fit him in. The story kinda spiralled out of control after a while. HAHA.

I Hate To Love You

Wed, 19 Dec 2007 09:05:45 GMT

Title: I Hate To Love You
Rating: G
Genre: Romantic Comedy
A/N: Dedicated to my beloved Amy unnie. Just cause I'm bored like that. It was supposed to be funny. I think it ended up as lousy crack. Forgive me!

Banner

"Hyung, I bet you 50 bucks that you won't dare to go over to that girl and tell her that her bum looks big."

"You silly dongsaeng, why wouldn't I?" Yoochun smiled as he ruffled his dongsaeng's hair and walked over to a daydreaming brunette sitting at the other end of the café. Donghae watched in anticipation, almost sure that the girl would get angry.

"Excuse me; you might not know who I am. But, I thought it'd be best if you knew something really important," Yoochun began, trying to sound as sincere as he could. He feared for his beautiful face, but was sure his quick reflexes and strength would be an advantage.

"Hmm." Yoochun raised an eyebrow but continued either way.

"Your butt looks big."

The reaction was instant. He hadn't foreseen her using her legs to trip him effectively and cause him to fall flat, face first, onto the ground.

"You're right about one thing. I don't know who you are. However, I hardly think you've ever seen my butt before, you sick pervert," there were no trace of her once dreamy expression and her lips formed a scowl. She looked as though she wanted to maul him there and then with a huge chainsaw, but out of the little humanity she had left, she had mercy on the humiliated man and strutted off, hips swaying, as if taunting the fallen Park Yoochun.

Lee Donghae could barely control his laughter as he skipped over to Yoochun.

"Hyung, your butt looks big."

"Ami, I really don’t think you should wear that..." Yoochun said nervously as he fingered the hem of his shirt.

"Why? Because my butt looks big?" Yoochun gulped.

"WHY DO YOU THINK MY BUTT LOOKS BIG IN EVERYTHING?" Yoochun winced at the volume of her voice, wanting very badly to shrink to the size of a pea and just die. What was with Donghae and betting with Yoochun about Ami's butt? Honest to heaven, he thought her butt was cute. Although... it was indeed a rather perverted thought. Yoochun had almost drifted off into dreamland when…

"ARE YOU GAY OR SOMETHING? WHY DO YOU LIKE JUNSU'S BUTT BETTER THAN MINE?!" Ami shrieked in disbelief, hitting Yoochun's upper arm. The latter, who had been caught unaware, fell off the bed at the collision. Said action elicited a gasp from the surprised Ami.

"YOOCHUN AH!" she cried, grabbing Yoochun like some sort of rag doll. He flopped into her arms, feeling rather dizzy from the sudden fall and punch. Why? Why did he have to like such a violent woman? He wondered if there would be anything left of him on the day, if it ever came, they broke up.

"Yoochun ah! I'm really sorry!" Ami cried, shaking Yoochun's limp body vigorously.

"TALK TO ME!" she screamed, shaking him, if humanly possible, more than before. Yoochun, whose headache was not improving because of the constant shaking, tried to swat her away from him and gather his thoughts, which were flying everywhere. However, he could only remain silent as Ami exerted her pent-up energy upon him. Yoochun waited for almost half a century before Ami stopped shaking him.

"OH MY GOSH! DONGHAE! I KILLED YOOCHUN!" Ami wailed when she finally stopped shaking Yoochun. However, she did not stop moving, instead rocking back and forth, holding onto Yoochun's, still, unmoving body. Donghae had heard the commotion and trotted into the bedroom, licking an ice lollipop.

"Hyung ah, she killed you," Donghae said as he patted Yoochun's shoulder sympathetically, although perfectly aware that Yoochun was alive and breathing. Ami waited for a few moments along with Donghae, as if expecting a 'dead' man to reply. Yoochun finally cleared his head and the stars stopped spinning before he spoke.

"I'm not dead, you fools," he grunted as he sat up and rubbed his temples, feeling overwhelmed.

Ami let out an uncharacteristically low growl and Yoochun turned to look at her.

He felt like screaming in fear.

"Do you think my butt looks big?" she asked, her voice low and husky, as if she'd exchanged voices with Yoochun. Donghae sat on the floor, sucking on his ice lollipop as he watched Ami and Yoochun. He would be frightened too, if not for the distorted look of calmness and fear on his hyung's face.

"Ah-h, n-no!" Yoochun stuttered. His voice sounded as high as Ami's usual voice. It was truly as if a miracle had switched their voices.

"WHY MUST YOU LIE TO ME!" Donghae grinned as he watched Ami launch herself towards Yoochun, grabbing the collar of his shirt and shaking him with as much reckless abandon as before. Licking his lips for the last taste of his newly just-finished orange ice lollipop, Donghae tossed the stick into the nearest bin and trooped out of the room, amused at the sight of Yoochun being bullied by a girl much more petite than him.

---

"Noona... Yoochun hyung doesn't really think your butt is big. I bet him to say that," Donghae said casually as he walked past his noona, another orange flavoured ice lollipop wedged between his rose red lips.

Ami, who had been examining her bottom in the full-length mirror against the wall, turned abruptly to see Donghae closing the door, a mischievous grin on his face.

"YOU MEAN I GOT ANGRY OVER THAT FOR NOTHING?"

The Red Asphalt

Tue, 18 Dec 2007 07:24:33 GMT

Title: The Red Asphalt
Rating: PG [death and gore and hinted insanity]
A/N: This was written for TVfXQ Forever's BTS Junsu Fanfiction Competition. <333

Shh. Don't cry.

He could feel the soft and silky jet-black hair underneath his hand. Her lower lip trembled and she sniffled, her eyes still glistening with tears. Her hands clutched onto the soft cotton material and she sought comfort from the physical contact, praying that it would all become better. He himself could feel something odd stinging his eyes and his free hand subconsciously rubbed his eyes every so often. It wasn't until he felt moisture that he realised he was crying. Stroking the smooth hair rhythmically, he found it not only soothed her but himself. He found himself seeking refuge in the infallible stroking rhythm.

It's alright, just don't look back.

He couldn't help but choke back the urge to throw up at the sight of the scene. It was gruesome, horrible, not for any human eyes. Covering her hazel brown eyes, the ones she had inherited from her mother, he shuddered and felt hot liquid burning trails down his face. He could feel his heart pounding against his chest as he forced himself to breath. He wanted to smack some sense into his heart, that was aching unlike any time before, but he had to hold on to her and holding onto her meant no free hands. She let out a loud cry of despair and he held her tight and close, sobbing silently.

Paint a picture in my mind.

He could feel her warmth against his skin and he took comfort in the fact that he wasn't alone, before drifting off into sleep. He had imagined sleep as his safety blanket, some place where they couldn't harm him. And yet he was wrong, they found him in his unconsciousness and they ravaged his mind, driving his sanity out the window. He twitched and turned uncomfortably as they played around with his mental state of mind, wrecking the once stability and causing chaos. He awoke to cold sweat running down his face, the heat of the blankets around his lower body and her arms wrapped tightly around his upper torso. She would never let him go.

Sing a song, any one you like.

His voice caressed her senses, lulling her into a mood where she would simply drift as she wished. Her sense of touch was numbed, as she floated in mid-air, amongst the clouds, feeling the breeze. Her sense of smelling was numbed; she couldn't sniff out the whiff of alcohol from his heavy breaths. Her sense of sight was numbed; she couldn't see anything but an everlasting road of whiteness, a breathtaking beauty of purity and originality. Her sense of taste numbed, the once sour taste of sorrow that tickled the tips of her tongue was mixed with her thick saliva and she barely taste the bitterness. She could no longer remember the tastes even if she forced herself to. And yet her sense of hearing never faltered. His sensual voice coaxing her into a slumber, where she wished she would never ever have to wake up again.

Release your sorrows, never hold back.

Screams. Shrill and sharp as he leaned against the headboard, trying to block out the sounds. She had been screaming for the past half hour of nothing in particular and he couldn't bear the sound anymore. Snapping his book, Digital Fortress, shut, he strode out of his room and towards the source of the noise. Her weak and fragile body did not match the eardrum-bursting screams that he was hearing. He couldn't believe how anyone so gentle as her could sound so much in resemblance to a banshee. And eventually, after the last hoarse whispers of her voice faded, he pulled her into his arms and rocked her back and forth, his lingering spicy cologne tantalizing her senses.

Humans are drawn funerals by nature, no matter how strange.

It was certainly a shock to see the cold, frigid body encased within a coffin. It seemed never long ago that the same person was laughing, smiling and hugging him. He couldn't bear to keep his eyes on the dark teakwood. He willed himself to stay, however, and say his last goodbye before his chance was taken away. His eyes slowly lost their fervent fire and the mud brown flashed crystal blue. As if ice. He wanted to laugh menacingly at all the guests who had been invited to give a speech of condolence. He so badly wanted to believe the words they weaved, like an expert and her well-woven basket, they used the words to hold together the lies of which they never spoke.

The holiday season brings cheer.

He held up the mistletoe. It was real. Not a piece of decoration to be used and tossed aside once done with. He had never quite seen a mistletoe before, due to his parents' disbelief in kissing under mistletoes. However, he remembered spotting the all-too familiar flash of white every Christmas as his parents disappeared into the study. He had never kissed under the mistletoe before. He remembered how easily the guests of the funeral had woven the basket of pretence. He mentally placed kissing under the mistletoe in the small basket of truth, a small and hesitant smile growing to his eyes.

Remember to forgive, but do not forget.

The strong aroma of roast turkey, ham and other festive goodies still infested his nostrils as he held the bouquet of flowers in his hands. A small hand in his, he bent down in his black suit to place the stalks of irises on the smooth and cool marble. She watched as the flowers came in contact with the grave and she watched as the purple turned more vibrant than before. He stood for a moment in silence, watching as pale hands ran across the granite not far off from the white marble. A gasp and a moment later, a red bloodstain was inerasable from the surface of the smoother marble. A remembrance.

It is not if you want to heal or not but if your heart chances upon the right path.

The stale stench of unwashed bodies and spilled whiskey was forever embedded within the small house, once before, a home. As a young child fingered the shirt of her teddy bear, she watched as he downed another beer, another shot, another glass, another bottle and another carton. And when she sees his bloodshot eyes, she remembers.

Do not dredge up the past.

A flash. The sight of pure incarnadine. Another blinding shot of light. The view of bodies twisted at grotesque angles. The crackling sound of thunder. A blundering man. The roars of God. A fallen child. The hail beats down. A splash of crimson and slowly the tears begin the fall. The lights turn out and amidst the darkness, the young child prayed for an angel to descend upon her and save what was left behind. Whatever she could salvage, she prayed for an angel to help her keep. The bellowing of the intoxicated and she forgets.

Sometimes, it's okay to hide behind the layers of your mother's dress.

Standing next to his daughter, he admires her in her grandmother's wedding gown. He pushes aside the anguish that plagues his heart at the idea of his own mother, the colourful stains of red blurring away to reveal a patch of white, pure and untainted. She is as slender as she was and fits as perfect as a pin, her bosom heaving and her shoulders trembling. She is not prepared. And yet he walks forward towards the man standing at the altar, awaiting her arrival. The organ continues to stream out the marching music and he smiles. The steady trickle of snow upon the transparent veil alerts him of what holiday he is missing and he smiles. Nothing could be more important than his daughter. His precious. And he will watch as another man learns to wipe away her tears and kiss her bruised heart better.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Kim Junsu loves Christmas and New Year's the most, out of all the holidays in the year. He loves Christmas Eve because it was the day his beloved daughter was married. He loves Christmas because of the simple thought of kissing under mistletoes. He loves Boxing Day because of the presents to be opened. He enjoys the 27th of December because he learnt to accept the death of his wife. He cherishes 28th of December because his parents join him in preparation for the New Year's countdown. He lingers upon 29th December because it was then he decided to remain sober for the sake of his precious daughter. He cannot bear to pass through December 30th because it is then he carries his small grandson, appreciating the smile on the young baby's face. He anticipates New Year's Eve because of the end of all the hardships of the year arrives and he is able to wash away the feeling of absolute desperation. And he can never wait for New Year's Day because for him, it is the sign of new beginnings.