She sings in cryptic poems and honest realms, lips upon plastic microphone industries as she utters lyrics of first loves and red flashing lights. It’s almost too funny, too unbelievable, that a girl like her could smile and flash pre-written words of sweet-as-candy-emotions, rainbows and butterflies, when every edge of her is full of smart wit and sharp focuses. If this is the price they have to pay to fulfill promised dreams, then maybe he’d like to go back ten years or so, grip her 14-year old arms and tell her to go back to her sunny towns and palm tree days. Go back to L.A., go back and never come here.

            But then, they never would have known. They met at a time of naiveté, back when their world was snug inside the four walls of a cloud-covered room, in a factory full of doe-eyed kids in too-big uniforms. Spending sleepless nights, staring at the artificial sky and dreaming of flying, promises of artificial wings that would take them to artificial worlds. Back then it seemed so easy, coated sugary-sweet like that, upon star-filled eyes and cotton-covered ears of a pre-adolescent him and her, while they sat there pinned to walls and examined by scrutinizing eyes. It seemed so easy, so attainable, so, very, very innocent; and yet-

            As he said, they never would have known.

--

            There is a place, on top of what seemed like the whole world, where they could be nothing but kids pushed forth in an unfamiliar country, lost and bewildered. In an industry where they are seen as nothing but entertaining robots in clear plastic sheets, sold to the public with the advertisement of perfection; a place to breathe is not asking for too much.

It was her who found it first. 27 flights of stairs from where home used to be, up into the rooftop. At the sides there are iron balustrades painted grey to hide the red-orange rust, cold and rough to the touch, old and creaking and feeling like breaking any time.

            That must be what she’s feeling, when he found her there. Elbows in contact with the cold metal, leaning against rusting tubes as she looked at the South Korean sunset. Her black hair is being swept by the wind, framing her face void of any color schemes, concealers, and pretention.

            There is much to be said about her, from her tattoos to her boy-cut, to the way she picked clothes that have stark similarities with his. But these are all superficial, images of the package that she chose people to see, and underneath them all is a kid who is thrown into these circus at a much too young age. They should really come with a disclaimer: fragile, handle with care, slapped with red ink upon their foreheads. But sadly, the industry is full of people who think they know everything, and really all they could do is smile through it and endure.

            Endure and if they’re lucky, find someone to hold your hand while at it. He does just that.

            He walked to where she was, arms against the railings as he stared with her at the sky. He could almost see it, their metallic dreams floating with cotton clouds, in the background of the setting sun. How beautiful, he thought; glimmering against the sunlit rays, reflecting off the glassy exterior of her eyes. How promising, how irresistible, how painful.

            How painful, looking at her. Sleepless nights under her eyes and exhaustion on the tips of her fingers. It’s almost too unbearable he could cry, if not for the fact that he is bearing identical scars. Beautiful promises up in the atmosphere, so simple that it seemed like all that came between them and the endless sky was a rust-covered iron railing, barely noticing the meters of vertical distance below.

           There is nothing he could do. Nothing but take her free hand and intertwine his fingers with hers, keep her from falling flat on the hot concrete floor in a spatter of red diamonds and glitter.

            Every crevice of her hand is warm, sweaty under his touch and the closest to home that he could feel in this foreign land. The line of tattoos circle her wrist in intricate black designs, like ropes that keep her from soaring; up, up in the blue heavens. So he removes his gaze from those, and instead stares at the grin that has creeped its way into her face. Now she is shining, resembling the girl of smart wit and sharp focuses that he met 10 years or so ago, back before their world revolved around hardwood stages and blinding spotlights.

            She closed her eyes, eyelashes fluttering with the breeze, and took a deep breath. Lungs slowly inflating and deflating, breathing in the afternoon glow and breathing out everything else: the broken dreams, the frustrations, the waiting, the feelings of abandonment and neglect, the childhood aspirations that vanished in a blink of the eye. When she opened them once again, she flashed him another one of her ear-splitting grins, and whispered, close enough so he could hear; thank you.

            He doesn’t answer back. Just smiled and squeezed her hand; because words are nothing but a string of letters meant for superficial communication, and between them is something that no language could ever put into meaning. Just smile; endure.

            Endure and stare at their metallic promises as it glimmers against the iridescent sky; up, up and away.

--

            She is the girl of impossible nature and stainless steel dreams, but even the strongest metals melt under the wrath of a thousand suns. So when she leans ever so slightly to him, cheek pressed on his shoulder, he lets her.

            And hopes that for now, he could be strong enough for both of them.

--fin

a/n: I understand that not all of us fans have the same opinion when it comes to the industry, and the majority of this drabble is just me venting out my personal frustrations. If I have offended anybody in any way I deeply apologize, but the reason that I wanted to share this with everyone is to remind us that these artists that we idolize are people too.

They hurt, and make mistakes, and as fans, we should be able to understand them in whatever they choose to do with their careers. I hope I was able to pass my message to everyone who would care to read.