Left...

If G-Dragon were ever honest with himself, he’d tell himself that it isn’t healthy to go out of your way to drive past your ex-girlfriends house every single night, but then he’d rationalize with himself that he only lives two streets over, and really it’s not out of the way, it’s on the way, how else is he supposed to get home? But then he’d tell himself that driving by twice was certainly not necessary and he should just go home, to his empty house that’s far too big for him, far too quiet, far too dark, far too empty. 

But G-Dragon is never honest with himself. In fact, G-Dragon is dishonest with himself to a fault. 

He doesn’t know what you’re talking about, he’s not driving by anyone’s house. He doesn’t even know anyone who lives on this street, and he certainly never woke up in a bed in a house on this street, early afternoon sunlight streaming through the curtains, the sounds of Stevie Wonder floating up the stairs from the kitchen, the smell of eggs and fried rice and coffee pulling him awake. 

That never happened, and he’s not driving past anything, he’s just going home. If you asked him if he shuts his headlights off and drives by slow, so slow enough to see the shadow moving past the upstairs window, or the cats sitting in the downstairs one, he’d tell you you’re crazy, he’d definitely never do that, and no, he didn’t see the new rose bush that had been planted out front.

He doesn’t want to see her, that much is clear. All he’d have to do is turn left instead of staying straight, but every single night, every single time he drives straight on home, he’s never so much as tilted the wheel to the left, not even once, so obviously you’d be crazy if you suggested maybe he should just go and talk to her. 

Except he does. He does so much it hurts, a physical, deep ache