☾ ─ Starter for @gumihc ( Ahreum ) ☽
♪ It was chaos digging its way to the very essence of his humanity, producing a sea of despair in a body that was not conceived to tolerate it. A trembling hand rushed through the golden strings of his hair, carding each one betwixt voluminous digits, the act alone serving as some sort of viewless support for a male who could do nothing but accept the destiny traced by hands that were not his own. His life was changing, not in a good way as so he has predicted. It was becoming a pandemonium of its own, a creature with senses and his own mind, leaving Jonghyun with no power to control it. What could he do? There were many ways he had meticulously created and in the paths of his mind, he concluded that all of them would have a tragic ending... The hypothesis of returning to the life he once had reduced to nothing. A roar escaped, showcasing the frustrating of impotence, a term that never before had been tasted albeit the definition was known. What could he do? What could he fucking do?! Accept the life encased in a prison, not in its own form, but metaphorically speaking; or find a way out? A real, possible way out? He was not someone who easily gave up the dreams he, as a human, planned; but life had vanished any possibility of maintaining them. It became evident his journey could not be as so he pleased. He had lost a handful of friends, had opted to leave behind the being who could give all he needed and wanted for the sake of his own career, his group future and the staff he worked with. For what? To have a physical and mental exhaustion? To have his destiny traced by the hands of others? Fuck that, he was more than that. He was the lord of his own life and destiny.
Forlorn and lost, his mind drifted right into the memories of his past, to the life he ignored, to the love he veiled with a fine layer of neutrality. Her name resonated in the confined space his own car allowed and his heart, poorly beating, warmed at the syllables he could not voice out. The same hand that before carded his locks, lowered to his nape to caress the tanned complexion to conceal the cold that was never gone. He regretted each and each decision he had made. There was not a single moment he could say bluntly that the choice was proper, beneficial and purely right. Damn it! He had done it all wrong.
Parking the car beneath a majestic century tree, the singer nestled himself against the vehicle seat, brushing the pad of his thumb against his sore tiers whilst taking hold of his smartphone, a pointless distraction when the mind was far too absorbed by thoughts. He fluctuated through old messages, photos, files he had saved; ignoring those that he hadn't had the force to remove, those that her name was gracing their existence. There was an energy that told him to see, a celestial vitality that was informing him the way out was right there. He ignored. He did not. And ignored again. The all too familiar loop was returning, a sense of determination following right behind. He had thought many times of such possibility, in the nights insomnia gave its hand to him and despite it had always been considered immature and ridiculous, in the depths of his mind it all made sense.
That day, that night, at 11 P.M -- when the first drops of rain made its imminent arrival, he pressed her name and typed a foreign message -- so foreign... So real... Real.. Real.
[ Txt ] The thought of you and I somewhere far from Seoul, probably where the first snowflakes dance along with the gelid breeze, sounds wonderful. Ahreum... I can't. I can't handle this anymore.