Love cannot be perfect. It never was, and it never will be. For every soul it takes its own shape, and every soul gives it its own tongue — some whisper it, some carve it, some bleed it out in silence, drop by drop. Heejae loves Garam, and Garam loves Heejae. The question is not whether they love, but how their love touches and merges and how it collapses.
It is a truly high spiritual intertwining of souls, when your dialogue becomes a musical staff and the hammers fall upon the strings. It is water, it is a thunderstorm, it is the riot and blossoming of nature that wraps around you every time you picture the image of your lover.
And it is also flesh and blood. It is the slap of paper against a face, a car crash, suitcases, a warm bed and a tight embrace. In the end — sex. Is that not carnal pleasure? It is literally your most direct contact as ordinary people. The same blood runs through your veins. You crave kisses and embraces. You want to hold your beloved in bed in the morning, to cook a meal, to give a gift.
You know what it means to be small in Garam's hands. You know what it means to merge with his music, to be part of his playing. You know what his love means to you. But you cannot step one step down, you cannot dig deeper into this pond to understand what love means to Garam. It is humanity. I do not believe you. You know what it means to be a simple human being.
And yet cannot say "forgive me," you cannot say "I love you." But you can put your protege on the world stage. You can give him the most luxurious halls. You can give him a bouquet of lilies. You can consider him the most charming and desire him. But you cannot step on your own throat. This is a defense mechanism with which you have literally locked yourself up from the inside. Your teeth grind at the mere thought. I guess, because you are afraid.
Saying it aloud means admitting to yourself that you are vulnerable. That in fact you have already proven it, if you recall what you did to Compton. You are absolutely vulnerable. When a person loves, he truly becomes fragile in certain aspects. And especially he becomes, to one degree or another, dependent on the state of the other. He worries if you are ill, if you have been insulted, he will take responsibility and want to protect you. Heejae, you are afraid to show your vulnerability, because then you will have to admit that your knife has become fragile. You will have to admit the mistakes of the past in the most painful way. This wall built out of pathos and egoism is nothing more than a desire to protect yourself from new pain.
Because you are afraid that you will wound him. You see the ghosts of the past, and they remind you of your old mistakes. Of the tragedy and the loss you keep trying to fill with photographs and personal plays. You see your own flaws in the image of your private grief. And you are so afraid of feeling it again that you are going mad. You draw close to people at the distance of a hilt — of a blade entering the belly.
And still, you have to ask for forgiveness. You have to admit that you are wrong. You poisoned the sacred waters with your arrogance over them.
Remain beside Heejae — that, for him, is love. Love through endurance. Love that does not soar, but learns the ground. And yet every feat deserves its reward: words of love, tenderness, redemption. You clipped Garam's wings. And then you taught him to walk, saying that this is the one path for him.
There is also the fury you left behind. It settles in the rooms you walked out of. It waits in the chairs. It hums in the silence between your name and his.
You desecrated the flowers that surrounded you. You drained the pond. There is room left for only you alone — in that pit.
He really needs to let the knife go, lay down weapon at the feet of your beloved and beg for mercy.
Love cannot be perfect. It never was, and it never will be. For every soul it takes its own shape, and every soul gives it its own tongue — some whisper it, some carve it, some bleed it out in silence, drop by drop. Heejae loves Garam, and Garam loves Heejae. The question is not whether they love, but how their love touches and merges and how it collapses.
It is a truly high spiritual intertwining of souls, when your dialogue becomes a musical staff and the hammers fall upon the strings. It is water, it is a thunderstorm, it is the riot and blossoming of nature that wraps around you every time you picture the image of your lover.
And it is also flesh and blood. It is the slap of paper against a face, a car crash, suitcases, a warm bed and a tight embrace. In the end — sex. Is that not carnal pleasure? It is literally your most direct contact as ordinary people. The same blood runs through your veins. You crave kisses and embraces. You want to hold your beloved in bed in the morning, to cook a meal, to give a gift.
You know what it means to be small in Garam's hands. You know what it means to merge with his music, to be part of his playing. You know what his love means to you. But you cannot step one step down, you cannot dig deeper into this pond to understand what love means to Garam. It is humanity. I do not believe you. You know what it means to be a simple human being.
And yet cannot say "forgive me," you cannot say "I love you." But you can put your protege on the world stage. You can give him the most luxurious halls. You can give him a bouquet of lilies. You can consider him the most charming and desire him. But you cannot step on your own throat. This is a defense mechanism with which you have literally locked yourself up from the inside. Your teeth grind at the mere thought. I guess, because you are afraid.
Saying it aloud means admitting to yourself that you are vulnerable. That in fact you have already proven it, if you recall what you did to Compton. You are absolutely vulnerable. When a person loves, he truly becomes fragile in certain aspects. And especially he becomes, to one degree or another, dependent on the state of the other. He worries if you are ill, if you have been insulted, he will take responsibility and want to protect you. Heejae, you are afraid to show your vulnerability, because then you will have to admit that your knife has become fragile. You will have to admit the mistakes of the past in the most painful way. This wall built out of pathos and egoism is nothing more than a desire to protect yourself from new pain.
Because you are afraid that you will wound him. You see the ghosts of the past, and they remind you of your old mistakes. Of the tragedy and the loss you keep trying to fill with photographs and personal plays. You see your own flaws in the image of your private grief. And you are so afraid of feeling it again that you are going mad. You draw close to people at the distance of a hilt — of a blade entering the belly.
And still, you have to ask for forgiveness. You have to admit that you are wrong. You poisoned the sacred waters with your arrogance over them.
Remain beside Heejae — that, for him, is love. Love through endurance. Love that does not soar, but learns the ground. And yet every feat deserves its reward: words of love, tenderness, redemption. You clipped Garam's wings. And then you taught him to walk, saying that this is the one path for him.
There is also the fury you left behind. It settles in the rooms you walked out of. It waits in the chairs. It hums in the silence between your name and his.
You desecrated the flowers that surrounded you. You drained the pond. There is room left for only you alone — in that pit.
He really needs to let the knife go, lay down weapon at the feet of your beloved and beg for mercy.