"Do you know why the wedding ring is placed on the fourth finger from the thumb on the left hand?"
Today, it rains.
It had been a drizzle, a small cool change in the winter weather. It happened when he left his house this morning that the tiny raindrops kissed his pale cheekbones and complimented on his red coat. The forecast says it will be bad, but it will be later tonight. The rain falls because up north, they will be experiencing a rather bad winter storm. For here, however, it will just be rain. Today, the grey sky cries.
Today, he wears red.
He wears red because it rains. He wear a long red coat that comes to above his knees, and adorned around his neck, a hand-knitted circle scarf that reminds him of maraschino cherries. He walks with ease, needless of an umbrella, giving the rain permission to kiss his hair. Butterfly kisses to his cheeks, his eyes, and occasionally his ears when he moves his hand to brush the stay raven locks away from his face, the February wind chuckling lightly past his ears, whispering, 'Hello, beautiful.'
Today, he does not bother with the people around him.
He does not take the bus to the train station. He does not stand aside the many others who do the same routine he does. . Instead, he walks to the station. He takes his time, the small puddles smiling to him from beneath his feet. Like little mirrors that reflect off the sky and his long red coat as he passes over them, past the little coffee stand on the side of the station. Being there, being around them, around people cluttered together only reminds him of those hands, that body, that warmth that stood cluttered with him, hand that held his, and being that existed alongside him. The memories that were attached to those long digits that wrapped and curled over his. Absentmindedly, he touches his ring ringer; in the crowd of people, he can only see him.
Today, everything reminds him of that person.
The strangers that sit in the same car of the train as him, the chatter of small talk, the splattering rain; everything reminds him of that person. Today, instead of an umbrella, he carries a bouquet of flowers, the dozen heads fragile to the cold, but still sustaining the weather. He carries the bouquet under his arm, a bright yellow against his coat, a contrast against the grey day. Today, he carries sunflowers because they remind him of his lover.
The rain dries off into a seldom drizzle, a downpour when he was on the train. But to him, it does not matter whether it is pouring or drizzling outside. Whether it is dry and sunny or breezy with crispy leaves; to him, the magic in those leaves have died long ago. To him, weather is not a hindrance; he will always be here, at this place, on this day.
Today, he wears red.
He wears red for his lover. He wears red because his lover likes this color. The hand-knitted red circle scarf that his lover loved so much... The one that reminds him of maraschino cherries. The one that still smells of warm cinnamon, something like cologne with a hint of cigarettes, and cake. It smells like cake. It smells like the cake his lover made for him so long ago. The maraschino cherry colored scarf that now adorns his neck under the February rain; how he loves this scarf. Today, he wears red because he misses his lover. He carries sunflowers because they are bright and they remind him of his lover's eyes – honey brown – and the brightness his contagious smile. He carries sunflowers because they are his lover's favorite.
Today, the February rain is his tears.
He lets them mix with the rain, the salty trails washing down his cheeks. He wants to smile, the water and the tears no longer separate, so that his lover cannot tell he is crying. That the rainwater is his tears; that they still collect for him. He does not tell him that he is still bound by such memories, that even passing by strangers give off memories of his lover, that his body still remembers how. How it will instinctively want to reach out whenever his hand is touched. The words cannot form, so they do not. He lets them travel up his throat and remain stuck on his tongue. He lays the flowers on the earth, watching the yellow quickly fading with the wet brown, and he wonders how his lover has been. He watches with seldom eyes, the intricate lines of those letters that make up the name he so love, and by habit, the words 'I miss you' falls from his lips, carried into the February rain and into the wet earth.
On this day, he wears red.
He wears red because today and everyday, he thinks of his lover and he misses that love(r), a warm deep deep red. And if he closes his eyes and listens close enough, he can hear the February wind chuckling lightly past his ears, whispering, 'Hello, beautiful.'
"Because it is the only finger that has a vein that's directly connected to your heart."
End.
For the person who will always give me that 'fluttery-like' feeling.
A/N: Memory by Younha (ft. Tablo). KHR does not belong to me.
02/03: Happy Year of the Rabbit! –passes out red envelopes of nothing- :]