Changed my mind. Next book, I’m writing a narcissistic romance
-Blurb-
Actually, you’ve been tired of writing this for a long time: the flirtatious push and pull between two people, all those lingering glances and meaningless kisses. You find that mysterious, elusive thing called love baffling. The protagonists you write have all grown cold, gloomy, and listless. They no longer know what they want from each other, or why they have to be together.
After all, one person made it through every hardship alone, and some secrets, broken and buried deep inside, are remembered by no one but her.
Someone who seems so sunny on the surface can have all sorts of dark sides no one knows about in private.
You can be consumed by jealousy, then pretend to take it all in stride. You can gaze calmly at the golden grass in the warm autumn sun and suddenly think of the end of the world. On a swaying bus, you’ve fantasized about a tenderness as soft as a swaddling cloth. For one fleeting moment, you’ve even wanted to pull a stranger close, kiss her, then squeeze her throat.
These thoughts are secrets you could never tell anyone. But when the you from ten years in the future stands before you, she sees straight through every dark corner of your heart.
Of course you’ll hate her for mercilessly exposing your hypocrisy. But then she straightens your collar, pats your shoulder, and tells you to relax. Every day, from the past to the future, you’ve used morality and justice to restrain that dark part of yourself. You’ve always been kind and bright.
But you still hate her. You hate that she has a face like yours but has lost the fire of youth. You hate how she schemes and manipulates people in business. You hate that she abandoned the promises she made as a girl and destroyed her ideals.
You ask how an idealist could sink so low. She pinches out the glowing ember at her fingertips and asks, “What else could I do? Who’s going to pay the medical bills when I get sick?”
Only then do you learn that the way you abused your body will turn into cancer. Only then do you learn that she’s close to death, yet still loves you.
You scour the library for every medical book and read like a madwoman. You consult every doctor and try every remedy, desperate to save her. But she only holds you gently from behind and chuckles against your ear. “There’s no need. It’s all in vain.”
You have ten years left to live. She has ten days.
For those ten days, you can hardly bear to close your eyes. Every second you spend gazing at each other says, I love you, over and over, before you kiss. The kisses aren’t all that passionate, really, because her breathing is weak and she barely has any strength left. You’re gentle, your soft little kisses landing on her forehead, while she keeps reminding you, “You must remember to love me.”
As for which version of me you should love, you can no longer tell. Ten years apart, you and she are so distant and unfamiliar. You hate each other to the core, yet have no choice but to hold each other tight. You confide secrets no outsider could ever know, your cheeks flushing and your hearts racing. You give each other everything, with complete honesty.
Later, you think you’ve forgiven her for falling so far. Then you think you’ll love her forever.
And, while you’re at it, you learn to love yourself, too.
Theme: No ulterior motive!
