Ghostly || Park Jimin

FRAGRANCE

To him:

Are you holding up Jimin?

Magnolia. Are they still your favourite? I planted one outside our home. Do you like it? The magenta colour suits you. I'm starting to like them too. The large petal flowers bloom, but only in the spring. When they do, leaves haven't formed yet. The whole tree blooms with pink.

I brought one here today. I hope you like it. I've started to open up. I'll tell you stories every day if you'd like. You're the only one that'll listen to my rants all day long with a smile plastered on your face.

Please come back to me.

Your lips. How could I forget them? They were plump and always stretched into a smile. They stood out from the rest. I wonder if that's why you like magnolia.

correction: liked

"Ma'am, please leave. It's getting late. I don't want you to get sick," An elderly man stood with concern. 

He was a little on the short side, with curly, grey hair. He wore a black sweater with grey sweatpants and carried a broom.

"Oh, I apologize, sir." I packed up my stationery pens and a small, brown journal. I would think that it's a diary but I like the word 'journal' better. 

 "I'm sorry for asking, but what time is it?" I replied to the man.

"11:39 PM, ma'am. Would you like me to walk you home?"

"There's no need, I'm so sorry for the inconvenience," I smiled softly.

I hadn't noticed it got this late. I guess writing to him really sped up the time. My mildly dirty sneakers walked amongst the dirt as I parted from the precious stone. 

Yes. Jimin had died. 1995-2021. He was only 25 and missed his birthday by a month.

I had led myself to the convenience store nearby; the little building on an empty street. The faint street lights giving enough luminescence to trudge along the sidewalk with ease. My arms swung side to side with the things still in hand.

The store is lit up with bright neon signs hanging everywhere. The large glass windows revealed a petite-looking space crammed with supplies. I strolled in as my feet no longer dragged behind me. I inhaled, praying that I brought some change along with me. My hands dug into the jeans' unusually small, front pocket.

$3.75

Should be enough for a meal?

I ran my fingers on the sides of the shelves, aisles stocked with ramen cups and packets. My gaze slowly shifted to the different flavours available. The bags made a crinkling sound ever so slightly, slicing the silence in half. I eventually decided on a cup noodle. It was wrapped in red, with the cup itself being made of thicker paper material. 

The struggling hum from the air conditioner was the loudest thing in the space. There was only one other employee standing behind the counter. After paying the brunette, I sat on the plastic stool while I struggled to snap the one-time-use chopsticks apart.