sprinkle of fate。ft. ???
Pluck a flower before its prime and your hands bleed for the crime. The cut, albeit shallow, bleeds red like the rose petal pinched between fingers. The taste of iron and copper mingle on his tongue as he tries to stop the flow. It does and it doesn't. The physical bleeding has stopped but the mind runs wild as eyes trace the veins of the delicate petal.
Flowers are offered to deities, our idols, as a common practice. Visual aesthetics for the span of a few minutes before they fade into oblivion. With the first signs of wilt they are discarded because rotting should be out of sight, out of mind. The yellowing at the edges and the once fragrant aroma becoming pungent with time. Everything waxes and then wanes. It's the cycle of life. Taehyun can't help but wonder how it reflects the trajectory of his own life.
Wrapping crinkle under his fingers as he tucks the blossoms away into a bouquet. Probably for a date or a love interest. Such beautiful things to look at and receive but what else?
The shift ends soon enough and he begins to lock up the place. A routine made out of habit that he could perhaps do in his sleep.
There's a sense of sanctity in the bustling streets, everyone to themselves, providing time to contemplate. In a world dominated by society - whether in person or virtual - sequestering time just for yourself is a rare gem.
It's a good thing he decided to bring his guitar to work today. The strings are worn like the guitar itself, fingers yet calloused from the lack of practice and his beginner's touch. But he tries anyways. Simple chords to simple songs that he sings his soul out for.
Twenty is when you become an adult. Taehyun is twenty but he's hogging a swing while singing to his heart's content.
