This was strangely reminiscent of the time he had picked up that abandoned, scuffed up American nickel on the side of the road. Jongin remembered thinking to himself at the time that he would try to turn over a new leaf. But then, as he deliberated further, the artist realized that this thought had passed through his head countless times over the past few months.

How many times had he promised himself he would start anew and shed the insecurities that were holding him back? How many times had he told himself that all he needed was a fresh start in order to move forward? And how many times had he failed to do so?

All this time, Jongin had basically been running around in circles. Despite thinking that he had been making progress the entire time, it had all been in his head as the artist continuously deluded himself into believing that he was getting better step by step. Everything was a white lie that he had been feeding himself, because he was too stubborn to think otherwise.

But no more.

Kim Jongin was laying down his paintbrush and his pencil.

From this moment on, he wouldn’t allow himself to touch a canvas at all. Even if his mind screamed out at him to create, since it was as integral to his life as breathing and eating were, he wouldn’t succumb to the urges.

Jongin meant it when he had told Yixing that he would take a break from his artistic endeavors. It wasn’t healthy for him to work without a direction while his frustration continued piling up with each failure. He had to break out of this vicious cycle.

And this time, he wouldn’t chase his tail and go in circles, round and round, always making the same mistakes over and over again.

This time, Jongin would stand firm and focus on healing himself, both in mind and body. The artist would try not to make any snippy remarks when speaking to Yixing, Jongdae, and Kyungsoo. Especially since the manager and the ophthalmologist were trying to help him through this deep slump.

Well, on second thought, maybe he’d allow himself to continue annoying Jongdae, because it was quite funny to see his older brother get so unnecessarily riled up. Besides, Jongdae wasn’t doing much anyway, so there was no harm in using the older male as an outlet for Jongin’s frustration, even though Yixing was sure to say otherwise if he found out the artist was contemplating such a thing. But that was beside the point.

He had to let go of his insecurities, which would help him let go of the bitterness within him. He had to let go of his art, even if it killed him to do so.

Jongin only hoped that his resolve would actually last this time around.

--

As Jongin slowly strolled through the streets of Seoul, a park that looked virtually empty caught the artist’s eye. A sparse number of people were scattered around, either alone or in pairs, which suited Jongin’s fancy. It took him almost no time at all to decide that this park would be his temporary haven on this late afternoon. A strong, chilly breeze blew through his hair, causing his scalp to tingle slightly, as he entered the park. The artist spent some time wandering aimlessly, passing the small lake that was in the middle and the giant red pine trees that were planted all over.

The only sounds Jongin could hear were the soft tweets of the birds that flew overhead and the almost inaudible noise of the wind blowing around him. It was peaceful, just how the artist liked it. He hadn’t been to a park since arriving in Seoul, but things didn’t look any different than they had when he'd been in Paris.

Everything was still dreadfully dull, even with the beginning of spring just around the corner. Tiny green sprouts were gradually pushing through the crumbly, moist dirt. Animals were nesting in preparation for the arrival of their precious young ones. Leaves were slowly unfurling on thin, sturdy tree branches.

But like the times before, when he had looked around the various gardens in Paris to find some inspiration, Jongin was still unable to see the beauty of life and growth that was right in front of him. That awful ashy film of gray still hung over the artist, who now only sighed sadly as he gazed at his gloomy surroundings.

He walked forward, not really thinking of where he was going. His feet automatically kept him on the winding sidewalk that s around the entire park. During the rare moments when the artist passed by another person, he kept his head down and locked his gaze with the floor. Just like this, Jongin made several loops around the park, rhythmically yet mindlessly continuing to place one foot in front of the other. It was another never-ending cycle that he couldn’t seem to escape from, but the artist didn’t know what else to do.

After another handful of laps around the park, Jongin could feel his legs tire from walking around for so long without a proper break. He soon spotted an unoccupied wooden bench that was several yards from the edge of the lake and made his way towards it. The bench was about a foot away from the sidewalk and was also unobtrusive enough to slip under the radar of most passersby. Once he was seated, Jongin crossed one leg over the other and gazed upwards at the ashy gray sky.

The wispy white clouds seemed to drift lazily through the expansive sky. The artist wanted to be like those seemingly carefree clouds, so he closed his eyes and tried to blank out his mind. But, as usual, only tendrils of black appeared to attack and torment him. It seemed that no matter how much he tried, no matter how hard he tried to cleanse his mind of the horrifying darkness, it would always return to Jongin without fail. It hung over him like a black rain cloud that was practically impossible to escape from. So the artist opened his eyes again and blew air through his mouth in exasperation.

But as he sat there on the bench, gazing at the rippling waves of the lake, Jongin noticed it was now extremely quiet. The birds were no longer twittering in the background and the silence, growing larger by the second, seemed to engulf his lonely self. Then a sudden movement caught his eye and the artist immediately turned his head upwards while his gaze searched the sky.

His eyes soon found a giant bird that was leisurely flying in the air, its eyes scavenging the scenery below it. Jongin squinted to get a better look at the bird, wanting to identify it. He was quite familiar with a significant number of bird species for someone who had never studied ornithology. Back in the day, the artist had spent many afternoons bird-watching and sketching the different birds he had come across. And his favorite section of the zoo had always been the bird houses that showcased various types of colorful exotic birds from all over the world. So Jongin prided himself on being rather well-versed in bird identification, which not many people could boast.

It helped that the giant bird was circling slowly in the sky, so the artist was able to take his time drinking in all of its features. It was extremely large—if Jongin had to guess, he would say its wingspan was definitely more than eight feet, probably around ten feet by his calculations—and its entire body was very dark, almost pitch-black. The bird’s head was slightly lighter than the rest of its body, but still looked gray for the most part. Its beak and its legs were also glaringly pale, a blue-gray color that contrasted greatly with its dark plumage. The artist noticed that the bird’s neck was also quite long, jutting out from its massive body.

Jongin wracked his brain for the name of the bird’s species. He knew he had seen it before in a book of birds that he had once leafed through for an art project back in his university days. It frustrated him to no end that he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was.

And then, like a sudden bolt of lightning from the sky, the answer hit him and Jongin abruptly leaned forward, staring wide-eyed at the giant bird while his hands tightly gripped the edge of the wooden bench. “A cinereous vulture,” he breathed out in amazement. “It has to be a cinereous vulture.”

The page detailing cinereous vultures in the book of birds was now materializing in the artist’s mind as he recalled it perfectly. The cinereous vulture was arguably the largest bird of prey that was alive on the earth, which would account for this one’s monstrous wingspan of about ten feet. The ones in Asia were marginally larger than the ones that were from Europe, so it wasn’t strange that the cinereous vulture currently flying overhead was so gigantic.

But Jongin was puzzled as to why it was here in Seoul and uncharacteristically flying quite low. The cinereous vultures that lived in Asia commonly resided in China, Mongolia, and Russia. While it wasn’t unheard of for them to come to South Korea, it was still a rare occurrence, especially in a bustling area like Seoul. They typically chose to live in remote places that lacked the presence of humans, so this random appearance of a cinereous vulture made no sense to Jongin.

The bird of prey continued circling around the park, its wings barely moving as it glided smoothly through the sky. Jongin didn’t expect to see another one, knowing most cinereous vultures were solitary birds that chose to be alone when they weren’t mating. With a chuckle, he likened the giant bird to himself as he watched its wings cut neatly through the air.

It was quite a striking scene. The silence magnified the cinereous vulture’s splendor that could be matched by no other. It looked undisturbed and untouched as it flew high above Jongin, constantly making circles in the sky.

When the cinereous vulture finally disappeared, languidly flapping its long brown wings in the air, the bird calls gradually returned, extremely softly at first but soon steadily rising in volume until it was just like before. It was as if the cinereous vulture had never been there. Like a phantom, its unusual presence was negligible in this park that was filled with commonplace city birds.

Was Jongin like that? Did he just not belong in this place?

Was he too different? Was it that he tried too hard to push out pictures that normal folks couldn't relate to anymore?

Or was it the exact opposite? Was it that he tried so hard to please everyone else that he no longer felt any self-satisfaction when he looked at his own artwork?

Was that why he considered every new piece of his as a failure? Were his standards too high to reach now?

Jongin had always told himself to never settle for less when he could go for more. But perhaps that mindset was blocking him from actually succeeding. With his sights set so high up, he couldn’t see anything anymore, since his head was always stuck in the clouds.

He really didn’t know. And the artist decided that dwelling on this any further would do him no good. It was possible that he’d just fall back into the trap of questioning himself over and over again without ever coming to an actual conclusion.

So he leaned against the wooden back of the bench and with the musical chirping of the birds in the background, Jongin closed his eyes once more. But this time, he didn’t fear the darkness that soon invaded his mind. Instead, he embraced it and mentally turned the suffocating swirls of black into musical notes that danced around in his head. Lines began to form behind the notes until it was as if his mind had become a sheet of never-ending staff paper. And with every melody that escaped from the birds’ beaks, the notes duly transcribed themselves onto the staff paper.

As each new note appeared, the old ones gradually crumbled away into piles of ash to make space. But Jongin paid no attention to the musical notes that disintegrated and allowed his mind to freely transcribe each bird’s song as it entered his ears. Although he wasn’t a musician and he probably wasn't transcribing the notes correctly, such technical details didn’t matter to him.

The music just flowed through him, shielding him from his darkest thoughts.

And it was…freeing in a surprisingly wonderful way.

There were no expectations burdening him right now. There was no judgment from himself. There were no standards that he had to live up to.

Jongin wasn’t a musician and he was perfectly content with that. And despite not being one, he was still going to soak in the beautiful harmonies that wrapped around him. He didn’t have to be an expert on music to understand and appreciate the simple tunes that these innocent birds were singing out to the world.

All he had to know was that the music sounded delightfully calming and relaxing on this cool, breezy afternoon.

Shifting his long body so that he was laying horizontally across the entire bench seat with his chest facing upwards, the artist rested his hands behind his head and felt the warmth of the setting sun’s rays on his face. Jongin then sighed deeply, letting his lungs fill up with fresh air. His eyes were still closed, but musical notes in his mind’s eye were warding away any negative feelings that would have otherwise claimed him. The artist didn’t fear the darkness, at least not today.

Today, he’d let his fear flake into ashes that would eventually blow away from him in the wind.

♈♈♈