I didn't plan on writing the next chapter of my story. For the longest time I could remember, I dragged myself through every possible line merely to encounter another wacky paragraph. The semicolons, the dots, the commas, I started not adding them anymore. I jotted down some random words and faced the sequence of obscure events. In some types of way, it was meaningless. What else did I have to tell? Nobody even wanted to read the first lines despite having the story opened already. Looking at how bad this story had turned out, I believe that the pages should have looked better in white.

However, between those depressing transitions, I met you. Perhaps the three elements of life: destiny, luck, and coincidence, were on my side that day. It was so bizarre; seeing you read my lousy writing with such interest. Although I had warned you about how awful this story might get, you still didn't believe me. Your lips slightly curled when getting to the funny parts, your eyes reflecting sadness when the protagonist encountered difficulties; those reactions were precious. For the very first time, I thought to myself: "Maybe writing wasn't so bad after all." When you reached the cliffhanger where I initially wanted to end, you said the words that no one had ever told me.

"Please, continue."

Little did you know, you were my first and only reader. Out of my own craziness, I didn't want to let you down. For you, I started using my old dusty pen again.

From that moment, I didn't write alone anymore. You held me tight when I tried to tear the existing pages. You let me cry until I fell asleep when I couldn't think of the next sentence. "Don't force yourself; you can always try again tomorrow." - that's what you told me. Sometimes, you even thought of several brilliant ideas to make the plot more interesting. There were times when our opinions collided, and we got into huge fights, but you always respected how I wanted my story to progress. Eventually, you taught me how to write in a more positive narrative even when all I've wanted was to kill off the protagonist.

"You know, I can't get my eyes off you when you focus on writing. Feel as if you're in your own world, and I get the front row just to adore you. The way you rest your cheek in your palm with your head slightly tilted to come up with ideas, the way your pupils dilated a little bit while rereading the paragraphs, and the way you endearingly look at me when revealing your work, I couldn't be more captivated. Your storyline might not be the most outstanding in this world, but I can sense it, your passion for life in every line. Even though it's not a story for the light-hearted, it was certainly worth going through all the pains."

"Did I regret reading your story? No way."

"You are rooting for that seemingly far-fetched happy ending, aren't you? It's been in your hand since the beginning. I'm proud of you for making this far."

A perplexing element such as love, which I didn't know I could include in the story, slowly made its appearance along the lines. When I showed it to you, you even said that it had become cheesy, but in a good way. Yeah right, that's what I got for getting to know you. But in a sense, I was glad. If it hadn't been for you, I would have never discovered this part of myself. I got to experience different story-telling methods, actualize various universes, and enjoy each moment of the storyline.

And then, the realization hit me. The protagonist was bound to face tragedies along the lines. Some events even left hideous scars on the protagonist. There might be moments when the protagonist wanted to give it all up. Nevertheless, things would turn out for the better. Not because the protagonist could erase every horrible memory; not because every character all loved the protagonist; it was because the protagonist eventually learned how to live with the wounds.

On the first day, the second day, or the tenth day, the pain was still insufferable. Holding the pen to jot down words seemed impossible. So, the protagonist went out to his favorite spot, the rooftop of one closed building. The sky was drenched in this melancholic hue with graphite grey clouds etching up high. This view was rather nice: sky-high buildings, mundane traffic, and pedestrians rushing on the pavements. Perhaps it would be better to remember this depressing sky from the way down. And then, maybe the sky would cry for the protagonist? Nonetheless, he wanted to wait for another sky.

Getting to the first month, second month, or the tenth month, that pain became more tolerable. The clouds began to spread apart, letting the protagonist glimpse the sky. Soft blue hues were painted on life's canvas. Breathing in the fresh air was not so scary anymore. Life still went on, with static buildings reaching the highs and humanity struggling with their lows. But for some reason, people kept going forward. The protagonist wanted to do that too. Little did the protagonist realize, the wind was giving him a tender embrace.

And for the first year, second year, or the tenth year, the pain was not aching anymore. Somehow, the sky looked mesmerizing. In contrast to the pale grey hues of the previous sky, the protagonist began seeing the orange-red stretches far and wide, the color of fire hearths and tangerines. The protagonist's eyes were steady to the horizon, face aglow with the last golden rays before the velvety night took place. If he had gone all the way down, he would have missed this spectacular view. For the longest time that he could remember, his lips bore the semblance of a smile.

Throughout the whole process, the scars would never go away, and the protagonist could never return to who they were before. He even lost some parts of himself in the tragedies which had happened. Despite all of that, he built up the courage to move on. He kept pushing forward because, deep down, he yearned for a happy ending that he believed he genuinely deserved. He walked out of those silent battles alive. The scars were constellations proving how brave he was for not giving up on life.

And then, the healing process commenced. This was where the protagonist slowly opened up their sealed heart. For me, I ran into you. The sweet reader who encouraged me to continue writing. The partner who was there for me when I needed a shoulder to cry on. And the person who made me realize how beautiful the sky could be. You could never know this because I might be acting too corny, but I believed it was all worth it. Amongst the infinite coincidences happening on this floating land, I got a chance to gaze at the moon with you.

Thank you for everything, my favorite person.

The protagonist looked at the night sky and said to the partner: "The moon is beautiful, isn't it?" Then, the partner gently grabbed the protagonist's hand and nodded. They were standing underneath the black velvet canvas, with speckles of lights embellishing life's masterpiece. Right in the center, the moon in her eternal stoic grace took place for them to witness. There was nothing in sight except the never-ending skyline and the dark ocean. Both of them can feel it: the chilly wind caressing their skin, the moist sensation of bare feet on the sand, the warmth from their loved one's hand. "Yes, but the moon's glow can never compare to your eyes."

---

Fin.

P/s: Merry Christmas 2021.