It's out-dated. 

The the process of ink on paper. The human hand gliding the black pen across the loose leaf paper. Ink appeared wherever the pen pressed on the paper. 

His mind bleeds ink onto the paper, whether it's scribbles or words is dependent to someone else. The words he's writing are up to him. He is in control. He's never been in control. 

Everybody says that something's different, I've changed. 

His head spun, as if he was sick from a fever and his blood burned, and he couldn't even walk properly. It hurt whenever he'd look sharply at an object. It was as if a sickness had washed over him, and he was feeling like he should be in bed. Resting. Completely torn apart from the world. 

But he couldn't do that. 

He had to continue on. He needed to stay humane, as much as his mind, his head, wanted him not to. 

They say, that you used to be full of love and care, but since that day, you've become cold. 

What was he supposed to do? 

"You're not the same." Kibum would say, because he'd demand Jonghyun to leave the comfort of his home, his bed, to go to one of the many cafes Kibum seemed to find each week. Jonghyun was never up for it. But this time, they had a few guests.  

"I'm not the same." Jonghyun agreed, seemingly unaware of Kibum's point. "I've changed." 

Kibum looked at him with that sort of 'are you kidding me' look. Minho snickered. "It's useless. He's really gone." 

"I don't think he's gone." Taemin butted in, always the optimist. He turned Jonghyun's attention from the racing raindrops that dripped down the window, and Jonghyun saw one of Taemin's gentle smiles. As if Jonghyun was the child. "He's just lost." 

"Taemin-ah," Jinki stepped in. "The only lost about him is his mind." Jinki had a wonderful posture, the way he leaned forward and had his chin resting on the table made him look exquisite. "I cooked him perfectly good chicken the other night, and he refused!" Kibum rolled his eyes. "I shared my chicken, and he didn't even accept it." Kibum reluctantly patted the eldest's back. 

"I think he's being childish." Minho said, as if Jonghyun wasn't there. As if he didn't exist. "He's not eating. He doesn't sleep. Like a child that doesn't get what it wants."

"Minho," Kibum spoke up, as if it were a warning. "He's depressed. This is how depressed people act." 

"I'm not depressed." Jonghyun spoke, looking at Minho. 

"I'm just dead inside." 

The way you speak, it's become all dark and scary. It is because of the memory I want to kill. 

"You have a lot of sense, you know that?"

"Maybe." He smiled. A rare sight. These days. He only did it for her.

"You speak with the care of others, yet there is wisdom and justice behind it." Yerim had a bright look on her face. Figuring out what went through her brother's mind. "You have a big vocabulary for someone your age."

"I'm not that young. I'm just 17." She pouted. He smiled and ruffled her hair. 

"I'm sorry about Unnie."

"I am too."

I will erase myself from my heart. A kind heart is useless. It's a flaw in this world. 

He felt like ripping his hair out. 

Everyday, worse and worse. There was people in this world that refused to spew tears, that had the decency to keep their emotions to themselves. Jonghyun was not one of them. 

Both sweat and tears rolled down his face. Everything was on fire, his skin burned with anger and his heart was frozen with remorse. He threw his books, he slashed at his curtains, he was throwing a tantrum and everything in his wake was to be destroyed. A hurricane in his own home. Everything was to be destroyed, just like his mind, like his heart. 

He was too forgiving. The world was too cruel for his warm heart. A heart of gold only gets molten down by anger and frozen solid by remorse. 

His mind was all he had left and even that, he started to lose. 

So I guess I want to become worse and worse. Like the saying, lovers resemble each other. I guess this is my way to become like you. 

It was blank. 

Everything was blank. 

A worn page in a leather note book. 

"Everything will be okay." Is what the future said. "Everything is okay." Is what the present said. "Everything was okay." Is what the past said. The excerpt read. 

He wrote nonsense. Incoherent sentences that wouldn't make sense to even the maddest minds, scribbles that resembled the scribbles a child made to feign intelligence. Once read by the writer, he just sobbed more. Into his sleeve, the salty tears fell onto his notebook, once a storage of sickly sweet poetry about his loved one, it was ruined by the angst and cruelty of the world. 

Where is my sun? He scribbled. Where is the sun that is supposed to rest upon my face and give me hope upon a new world? Where is my light? The light that guides me through this new world. It had been replaced by darkness only the most deepest parts of this cruel world knows. 

It was up to him, how much he had to go through this. How much he would with take it. 

Bad, love is bad. It became the reason to breathe, but now, you've blocked my breath. 

Her presence was intoxicating, making him slip from every common sense he knew. He wanted nothing to do with it. 

"Jonghyun, please leave." She pleaded. 

"You killed her!" He screamed. Fighting against her. "You were supposed to save her! Her fate, her happiness rested in your arms and you failed!" He spat at her. "Your very own kin, and you failed to retrieve her life!" 

"Jonghyun, please-" She pushed her hands against his chest. Stopping him from the flames of theory that erupted from his shoulders, his mind. His mouth spewed lava. 

"You were supposed to keep her safe! You killed her!" 

He broke down. He had to be pulled away from her. The sub-conscience of his mind was worried he might hit her. He wanted to do worse to her after what she had done. 

"I had only cared for her and you ripped her away from me! Villainous acts upon and innocent person are not welcome by me!" He spouted only the finest literature, in his darkest moments, even his mouth knew wonderful poetry. 

"When you wake from this spell, everything will be okay." She whispered, too low for him to hear over his screams. 

Love is so bad. The more you get to know about love, you only become worse. 

"Will you ever get better? Is this all you've become?" Kibum shouted, within the confinement a of Jonghyun's apartment. Jonghyun sat, staring blankly at the carpeted floor, right in front of Kibum's shoes. 

"The Jonghyun I know does not do this to people! He doesn't shut them out and become nothing but a lifeless bot! You're so much more than this!" 

"Taemin was right." Jonghyun whispered. 

"I'm lost." 

I don't pass by before the ember that becomes a fire. Bad, people are so bad. You became the reason I why I open my eyes. But now you've blocked my sight. 

"Taemin-oppa has told me you've gotten worse." She spoke, gentle and soft. Reassuring. 

Jonghyun was blank as he sat at the edge of his bed. Staring off into the nothingness. 

"You wouldn't get worse... Would you?" She sat beside him. She blinked back tears. 

"I'm here. You can't... You can't do this." Her words came tumbling, barely passive for proper grammar. He could barely make her words into coherent sentences as she sobbed into his shoulder. 

"You're the older one..." She said, muffled by the fabric of his shirt. "You aren't supposed to do this to me." 

"I'm..." He croaked. "Sorry. Yerim." 

The worse thing than you, who is bad, is that I can't get over you, who is bad. I break apart and become worse. I become worse to other people. 

"It's getting worse." She murmured. Her weak fingers engulfed in his. She wore a white hat, almost looked knit, but it was to hold the wound. 

"I'm only getting worse." Her whispers fluttered in the monochrome room that was silent except for the beeps that came from the machine, the machine that indicated she was alive. That her heart was beating. 

"You can do it, Taeyeon." He said, encouraging, louder than she could even try. He gave her a soft look, and kissed her knuckles. 

"I miss my hair." Her hand reached up to her shoulders. "It was so pretty. I got it dyed not that long ago. I'll miss it." She said, longingly. He was about to reassure her. But her eyes slipped closed, into a sleep she had yet to wake from. 

Love is a sickness.