IMPRESSIONIST ( w. ) @lgcheejin
he recognizes her by her hair. it was what initially caught his eye — her sleek, black hair swirling around her as she glided across the ice, alone, that dark winter night. he remembers calling out to her. mind if i join you? and everything stopped. the wind. the whispers. her hair fell gracefully over her shoulders as their eyes met.
this time, rowon doesn’t ask. he fills the space to her immediate left, his gaze drawn towards the artwork now in front of them, flowers by santhosh. “anguish,” he says after a thoughtful pause. “that’s what i’m seeing. it’s hugging itself. we only do that when we need comfort.” he motions at the right side. “usually flowers represent beauty and youth, no? but it’s looking backwards, almost like it’s looking into the past. it’s reminiscing about losing its beauty to … presumably old age.” he’s probably wrong, but he didn’t come here to be right. in truth, he’s much more interested in heejin’s interpretation and what it says about how she thinks.
“they say beauty is in the eye of the beholder. i’m inclined to disagree. some beauty is objective.” at long last, rowon turns to face her. “you look stunning.”