The stillness of the air brought her peace only to broken by the sound of Wesley’s voice speaking above the noise in her head. His eyes were sharp, waning in ways that Jieun couldn’t understand. Still even then she was not afraid of the man who sat beside her with his arms crossed and his head facing forward as though reflecting on the shadows of the world that seemed to pause for them.
There were a thousand thoughts pouring down at her all at once, and through the rain she found a word that was always so confusing and strange to her. It was something that she had long forgotten about, and it was the one thing that frightened her after all these years.
“Yes, I’ve been in love before, but I don’t think it’s horrible. Though it isn’t wonderful either. I’m still not quite sure how far I’d like to venture into my own vulnerability. Do you feel the same?” She spoke, staring at the sharp edge of Wesley’s jaw as he clenched and unclenched his teeth.
She can remember her first love and how innocent it was. How the fluttering of her once beating heart knew exactly what it wanted, yet still did not understand the meaning of love. Then love transformed into an escape, a way for her to run away and hide from what she truly felt before becoming so foreign to her that someone had to teach her again what it meant to love.
But love had turned dark, ensnaring her into a trap that inflicted wounds onto the heart that stopped beating.
Was that why love was horrible? Was that what Wesley felt?
It was as though he was tethering on thoughts that he wanted to express, but couldn’t. Like a war was waging on in this very moment, and she was oblivious to it all. He was a man who was good at concealing how he felt, a man whose thoughts were as mysterious as the depths of a cave. No matter how much she could wander into it, there would be no end and she would be lost in a world of darkness.
“Though you know what they say about love though. We love as fiercely as we hate, and sometimes, the lines between those two emotions cross and we confuse ourselves into thinking we love when truly we hate.” The wind blew then, the air cooling the warmth she felt on her cheeks. “Have you ever felt that before? Loving someone you hated? Or hated someone you loved because you were too afraid to love them?”
Love. On Google, love is defined as an intense feeling of deep affection. A person or thing that one loves. It is a romantic or sexual attachment to another living being. Synonymous terms consisted of several such as fondness, tenderness, warmth, intimacy, endearment, and adoration. Love was conveyed with a warm pair of arms and a tender kiss to the forehead. Love was “good morning, have a good day!” followed by “did you eat today?” Love was expressed with tears of relief and midnight conversations which often entailed of one’s woes and penchants. Love was the synchronicity of nude bodies in the depths of the night, sealed with the clashing of lips in fiery ardor. Love was rendering one’s self to the stage of vulnerability, cracking the outer shell of skin whilst uttering internal sorrows and mental atrocities without the fear of being judged. Love was often accompanied by the instinct to trust, and there was nothing more comforting than the idea of being able to entrust your life to another.
“Ah, not quite. You see, I have never fallen in love. I would consider this a blessing in disguise, for I would rather not venture into any aspects of vulnerability.” His pearly whites loosen their tension and gradually begin to separate from their initial state. Wesley harbored an entirely different definition of love. As a child, he would bury the things he loved, and this was a wide variety of things. He would bury the several toys he had the pleasure of bringing to class for show-and-tell, and he would also bury the little critters he befriended on the grassy fields of the playground. When you love something, imprison it. When you love something, bury it. When you love something, destroy it.
When he finally did venture into the depths of his sexuality, he knew it was taboo. It was a forbidden type of love. Men were not allowed to love other men. And so he would suffer through self-made repercussions with every sin committed. He would walk past the holy doors leading to the local church and pray.
Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I have sinned against You, whom I should love above all things. I firmly intend, with the guidance of Your grace, to sin no more and to avoid all which leads me to sin. Our Savior, Jesus Christ, suffered and died for us. In His name, my God, have mercy on my soul.
Blasphemous. Nonsensical. Absolutely and utterly ludicrous.
God was not worthy of his time.
And so he left the church with a light heart, free of all strife.
There was no one in existence worth of his resentment other than himself. His own reflection was revolting. He was repulsing and nauseating. Yet he adored himself with equivalent zeal. He was powerful, and he refused to believe that a being of greater power was responsible for constructing a creature as divine as he.
“I know that feeling very well. Have I ever loved someone I hated? Ah...” With a click of his tongue, he flicks a slender index into the direction of his own physiognomy. “Myself.”
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