I was a coward way before you knew me.

Cowering in the art room was all I did. Among torn up pieces of my trash paintings, for I knew they were trash no matter how I was praised for them, I always gazed out of the window and watched you. You were always at the back of the building.

I found out that your name was Yoo Youngjae.

I found out because once, I heard it slip out of the mouth of the bullies. They slammed you against the wall and splashed a bucket of oil over you. One of them grabbed you by the hair, yanked you up, and said, “Don’t be such a , Yoo Youngjae.” I heard it. 

I heard it, and did nothing.

I saw it, and did nothing.

My heart yearned to embrace you, for you looked so weak and fragile at the moment; and forgive me for saying this, Youngjae, but when I heard the gasps from your lips as they continued to assault you made me want to hear you call out my name, “Jung Daehyun.”

Yet, I did not bring myself to help you. I would watch for some time and then I would simply sit down again, enjoying the silence that coated me. I was always alone in the art room. It was always reserved for me, because the principal felt that my “beautiful artworks demonstrating infinite talent and skills” would bring “honor to the school”. I was never scolded for skipping other classes to paint, as well.

And so, despite knowing that you were suffering out there, I continued to paint silently, indifferently, insensitively, locked in my own, selfish world.

I am so sorry, Youngjae.

I remembered the deep swelling of satisfaction in my chest on the day I completed your portrait.

I held it lovingly in my hands, and stared for a long time. I had painted you in blue and pink, and my heart pained so much. When it dried completely I traced my fingers across your face, and it was then that I realized it was just a painting.

It would never be you.

Yet, when I brought my hands to tear it up like I did to almost all of my paintings, my hands were trembling and they would not move. They were weak and disobeyed my orders to turn your portrait into ragged, destroyed pieces.

So I cried, for I did not understand the weird feeling in my heart, for I was unable to destroy this beauty, and I hugged it close to my chest. When I  recall this moment, I am surprised that I was such a lunatic. Perhaps your beauty drove me insane