Gone Not Around Any Longer


I didn’t know why I wrote this but I just did. I love this song and I listen to it often, and I wish I wouldn’t have to ruin everyone’s mood with this but this is what I’ve got in mind for the song. Don’t worry – it’s pretty short so it won’t affect you or anything. Just pray for a happier song next time. Maybe “That XX” by G-Dragon would be a better love story than “Gone Not Around Any Longer” but that would wait for later.

I’m currently working on Deus Ex Machina chapter 10 – I rewrote chapter 9 because I was dissatisfied, and I still am. I just hope you’ll still like it, and me. Hehehe. So, enjoy!

Gone Not Around Any Longer

(This song is inspired by SISTAR19’s song of the same name.)


I didn’t know we would break up so easily

My tears won’t stop flowing


In my bathroom your toothbrush was here then gone

Your strong scent was here then gone

I just wanted to say that I love you

But your number is disconnected now


The pictures in the frame were here then gone

Fallen hair were here then gone

Walking on the road with an empty mind

As tears keep flowing down


I can’t breathe now that you’re no longer here

I can’t even stay because you aren’t with me

I am slowly dying but you’re not here

Anymore, anymore, anymore


I can’t smile because you’re no longer here

Because you’re not here

I hate seeing myself break down

I have nowhere to depend on now

* * *

The sun filtered through the translucent white curtains in an angelic way, bathing the disarrayed room in silent sympathy. A gentle breeze waltzed inside the room, flipping pages of books and journals, opening secrets best to be forgotten. Photographs were scattered on the floor like dying petals, the smiling couple in them were nothing but blotches of ink forming a picture. A table and two chairs lied limply nearby the messy pile of pictures, and a picture book stared blankly up towards the ceiling. The bed sheet was tangle up with the duvet and bunched up high near the headboard, covering the pillows in a suffocating manner. Outside, it was a sunny day.

A trail made from a thin sheet led to a pristine white bathroom where a young woman perched at the side of an empty tub, looking at the tiled floor with disinterest. Her hair, which she used to keep in style, was now dead brambles; her face, which used to house a cheerful smile, now looked older and weary. It was deafeningly silent, something she had never likes, but she didn’t even notice how loud and disturbing the constant drips of water were. It was as if she couldn’t hear a thing at all.

After a long while, she looked up. The mirror reflected her worn-out face mockingly. A cup that held a toothbrush stood mournfully beside the tap, an exact replica of her inner state. She glanced at the toothbrush and then towards her reflection, then back to the toothbrush. The toothbrushes.

She remembered starting the day playfully bickering over the bathroom space, stating that it would be better if she had a shower booth rather than a bathtub. Before she could tidy up her hair, she would complain about the amount of fallen hair entwined with each brush teeth. However, her morning frustration would ebb away as soon as that familiar scent wafts into the room and then into every part of the house – she had chosen that particular brand of perfume.

The girl looked back at her reflection and got up as if she hadn’t seen anything at all. She walked back towards her room, past her bed and towards the balcony. The sunshine was blinding.

She used to spend the time here marveling the brilliant warmth and how the light would cast beautiful images of the city. The wind was the best since her room was not too high or too low, and the city orchestra had never been a bother at all. She was so eager to come here every morning to greet the day with newborn vigor –

The sunlight irritated her.

She walked back in and noticed the pile of photographs on the floor. There were always two, never alone, and always smiling whether stupidly or contently. An arm was always around her and she too would give back the loving gesture with a loop around the neck. She spotted the camera nearby the pile and glared at it. Why were these pictures taken again? She hadn’t taken them to taunt her. They used to represent happy memories. She wasn’t so sure about that.

She flopped down onto the bed, her hand unconsciously reaching for the phone. She didn’t try to stop it, because she wanted to hear it.

To hear it.

To hear his voice.

To hear him.

How he used to bicker in the morning about the space in the bathroom, but would always insist on keeping the tub because he liked how it fits the corner perfectly. He would always use her comb, stating that if he did then her hair scent would always be with him for the rest of the day. And in turn, he would use that perfume she picked for him because he loved the scent so much.

Every morning, she would always drag him out to the balcony so they would have a fresh start for the day. He should admit that he enjoyed the light morning breeze, the welcoming warmth and the lovely sunlight. The noise was not to his taste, though. He would always wonder how she could be so eager to come here every morning and jump around like a hare even though there’s nothing so special about the landscape, but he would always come to see that smile.

He had bought the camera so they could save every happy memory they had experienced so that when they’re down, they would always look at the pictures and remember the happy days. They had both agreed that that was what they would do when they’re forlorn.

She wished that was true.

She dialed his number without having to recall it and listened to the monotonous tune. Even though she knew what the outcome will be, she still hoped; hoped that someone would answer, that someone would greet her, that someone would talk to her – no, not just someone. It had to be him.

The tune went on endlessly. A click. A more rapid tune replaced the slower ones from before. Her tears fell down once more.


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