I love him.
He is the only light in my bleak existence.
I have always watched over him, my boy. Always yearned to be closer—to touch him, to hold him, to feel his breath mingle with mine.
It was April 19th, XXXX.
That evening, beneath the suspended April moon, I saw him walking alone on the empty road. His steps were laced with something—something heavy, something sharp.
My boy, what has upset you? Who has hurt you?
I stood there, watching him approach, step by step. My chest tightened. A slow, aching sensation spread through me, whispering—
I must keep him.
…
He doesn't see me.
My little boy, you keep walking, unaware.
Unaware that someone is watching your every move.
Unaware that a single glance, a single breath from you is enough to bind me to you forever.
The night wind plays with your hair, strands falling across your forehead as if beckoning me.
I wonder, if I reach out now, would you flinch?
Or would you look up, those eyes meeting mine, and then—
Would you smile?
No.
No, you wouldn't smile.
You're upset.
I see the furrow of your brows, the way your fingers clench as if holding back unspoken words.
A sour feeling twists in my chest.
I don't like this. I don't want to see you troubled.
Because when you're sad, it feels as if—as if you're disappointed in me.
I'm sorry. Please, don't be sad. It hurts inside.
I… I know what I must do.
I step toward you, silent, careful.
I don't want to startle you.
You are fragile to me, as if even the gentlest breeze could break you.
One step, then another… until six.
You notice me.
I'm sorry. Did I surprise you?
Look at you. So beautiful. A white bloom standing out amidst a field of color.
You smile at me—soft, pure.
I smile back. My hand lifts, brushing against your head as if to soothe you.
You lean into me, letting yourself rest against my body.
I hold you carefully, making sure not to hurt you.
You accept me.
I am happy.
Then, slowly, I take you with me.
The moon still lights our path.