Remember that day when you called me, telling me you have depression?
It was a hot summer night. I was standing outside of a secluded Italian restaurant, outskirt of town, to hear every single word you said.
When you said you thought of ending your life, all of the sudden, the night felt cold. The wind turned into ice and the dark was pitch black.
You told me food never really tasted good. It was just "okay. But for the past 4 years, you adore food.
You would constantly be taking me out to eat the best food in town. Or is it the idea of eating and bonding that fascinates you?
At that moment, I just want to ditch my business dinner and drive 30 minutes across town to embrace you.
The thought of you hurting, even if just a little, made my heart fiercely clenched like it could pump blood for you.
I want to dive into your heart, covering it with a soft plush blanket while holding you all night long.
If I could just experience the glimpse of the pain you have been through, this world would shatter into pieces.
But I hope that this love that I have for you would make your heart pump blood that could nourish your strong self and your gentle manner.
I hope that this love that I have for you would make the meals you eat just a little more delicious; a little more salty, a little more sour, a little sweeter.
I know I can't fix you because the pieces that were lost on the way was long gone. But, I promise, that I can give you all the time and love I have.