She looked at the small TV screen and scoffed.

Young men chasing girls, running on the sand at the beach. Holding hands. A light kiss in the drizzle. Friends all around them.

Taeyeon wanted that.

Not the running on the beach, or the holding hands. Not even the romantic cliché of kissing in the rain. She wanted that someone.

Just that one.

Her preferences didn’t allow much room for choice. She had lost hope quite some time ago.

What is love, anyway?

Yet another illusion, created by the masses of people who searched for it everyday. A distorted view, amplified by media. An unattainable perfection.

She had her guitar on her back, her tiny apartment and that little spot in the park where she sung soft ballads every night.

It was enough for her. She could still do this.

Maybe in 20, 30 years, she’d worry about putting food on the table. But for now, she could survive.

Who needs love, after all?

She thought of the old man who busked in the small underpass leading to the park.

He was fine, no?

It was just him, and his old saxophone, and the little tin can where he collected the coins.

Maybe once, he had loved.

Maybe he still did.

Love, after all, was just a feeling.

Taeyeon sees the other girl, so much like her.

She’d take the tunnel man’s spot every night, after he had left. Often she would see the exchange, the wizened man would pat the young girl on the back before he left to the nearest subway station, taking the last train home.

She was neat, very much so.

She placed the hard case of her guitar on the floor, opening it gently, like it was the most precious thing to her.