"How cruel this world can become" an old man in his late 40s said while staring out the French window door at the snow that's falling on the ground, hiding everything with its beautiful white cloak, and the wind which is playing with the naked branches that let go of their leaves until the coldness leaves and brings instead the warm sun in Spring.
He sighed with a light chuckle at the idea that came to his mind. "Can you believe words are still not capable of describing you?" He turned his head to stare at a huge painting on the wall behind his huge Mahogany desk. It's for a woman in her early 30s. She's holding a big bouquet of red roses, she was smiling but whenever the man stares at it, he only wonders and mumbles with the same broken voice "why did you leave me with this smile?"
He sighed heavily and went to take seat in his huge Mahogany desk. There were a lot of finished papers waiting his Butler to come and take away; leaving a special space for his writing machine.
He opened one of the desks' rollers and picked out a number of white A4 papers. He placed one of them on the machine and prepared to type whatever just came to his mind.
'No matter how many times the snow falls, it still looks the same, hiding the whole place with the same cover, in the same colour, but you… You? You were different every month… No, you were different everyday. The way you used to smile, was melting the ice in my heart whenever I felt not myself. You coloured differently. Not like this boring white snow with the same colour every year. You… You were always something new. Sometimes yellow, other times red with slight black, and many other colours.'
He stopped typing and turned his chair to stare at the painting once again. "Here's the same sentence I think about in every time I write about you". He mumbled before turning back to type at the end:
'You were my sunshine, but I still don't know why you couldn't be mine.'
He stood from his seat when the door was knocked, his Butler entered holding in his hands a tray. There was a cup of black tea and next to it a plate full of special cookies.
"They used to be her favorite." He told his Butler ever so lowly as if telling an important secret. He gave him a small broken smile followed by a nod, "They were" agreeing with him.
He couldn't help the shattered heart of his. To not let go of his tears. They hid themselves perfectly for a while now, but it's in this time of the year when they fall and help him relax a bit after a long breakdown.
He collapsed in his seat. A long heavy sigh left him while rubbing his forehead. Sensing the discomfort of his master, the Butler turned and started rubbing his shoulders and massaging his neck "Mister Beom?" he called, "more than 5 years had already passed since the last time you stepped into her grave."
"I can't... I- I'm not brave anymore to face her" he said with a broken voice. He rubbed his temple before he picked up a cookie from the Medieval platter he had for 10 years now, he sank it in the black tea with low sugar for his health safety, since he's been addicted to drinking it ever since he met…
Ever since he met her…
The Butler let go of his shoulders, after he confirmed his master calmed and relaxed again. Han Beom stood from his place and opened the glass closet next to the French window. It was full of prizes he had won since he was in high school. But none of them mattered more than the book he put in the middle roof, all alone, so he can see it clearly whenever he enters the room or look at it from his seat. Hell! He can clearly see it from any corner in the room!
It was a big book with white cover, its words were neatly written in bloody red ink, the title was uniquely written in big words in Lucida Handwriting font.
His eyes freed more tears, welcoming the title with much happiness and the memories that followed.
SHE SHINED SO BRIGHT