Moon Byulyi swore she didn't need anyone else, any other muse. I mean if you're attached to the hip with your best friend -mutually- you wouldn't have to. Jung Wheein, a painter who thought the same. Not because it's convenient since they lived together but because she knows, even if words were never spoken, they mean more to each other than a muse and an artist.

Maybe that's where Byulyi regrets. Running away, keeping herself tight lipped to not ruin what they've had. Now all of what’s left are in pictures, in posts, in every place except where she wants them to be.

Byulyi should've, she should've just admitted her feelings. Because she actually knew with absolute certainty her best friend felt the same. Now, she's out of reach. She can't tell. Because the best friend she used to know sees her as a stranger.

Cruel- absolutely cruel- fate it must be, to die in your friend's eyes- or to feel them die in yours.

Or see them frequently, talk to them regularly, knowing only you remember your shared past. Knowing full well you'll cry about how she looks confused as you tell her about it. Knowing full well she'll look at you the same way she used to when you’re ing about your day but unlike the presence of sweet home and refuge you get an aftertaste of: “Did i overshare? Is this overstepping?” In other words, you tell her, you try, but at the end of the day, you’re alone and bitter. Alone and incomplete. But you still try, don’t you, Byulyi?

"I did that?" She would say, after a distant laugh -no longer contagious and familiar. "I didn't know you'd be so cheesy. You don't look the type to be." She would speak her mind just like she used to, except it all feels too far.

Too far for Byulyi to recognize - or even reach. Yet close enough, real enough for her to hear and feel slapped by how painful reality is. "Well, you loved them. Uh, you used to... always laugh or ask for more... or just- do it too." Byulyi's words were sullen and hesitant. Holding back thousands of tears. Holding back hundreds of pleas. Holding back tens of regrets. Ultimately holding back from one thing: accepting the present.

"You loved-" me Byulyi wanted to say for the nth time, but it just makes this Jung Wheein guarded and the air awkward. So she drops it even if it pains her each time. "You loved talking to me through your paintings. And I lo- liked replying to you with pictures. You loved colors." And I loved your smile. She stops herself from saying.

The thing is, Jung Wheein felt absolutely normal. Which hurt Moon Byulyi more. She's left in the dark- unable to know and understand what the hell happened. How the hell did they get here?

Maybe because Moon Byulyi is selfless. Maybe because she's a fool for her through and through.

She desperately wants, at least (she would rationalize and tell herself) for closure, to try and make Wheein remember her. To look at her like she used to. She wants her to be the old Jung Wheein again. It hurts. Much like a dagger sinking deeper into her chest each time she feels the old Jung Wheein drift further and further away.

But she's selfless. But she’s foolish.

So she still meets with this Jung Wheein, still a painter, but not the one that loved her as her only muse. This Jung Wheein loved abstract painting. Indirect meaning, open-endedness. She’s so similar, almost familiar that Byulyi is left hurting. Hurting at how detached this Jung Wheein is. Hurting because the odd similarity of her artstyle with her Jung Wheein, whispers to her like a nostalgia inducing song. Making her hold on to trying to name a song she only knows the beat to. Because naming it would give her something she could hold on to.

A sign of hope. Maybe Moon Byulyi is delusional but she hopes this nostalgic art style was intentional. She hopes this Jung Wheein deliberately has such a style because she wants to bring back her memories. She could only hope the painter feels her pain. She could only hope that they’re on the same chessboard, same game, and same level of vulnerability. She could only- to make herself feel a bit better- hope she isn’t alone.

Would hoping like this make her selfish?

Each time they meet and talk over morning coffee, it feels like she isn’t in the same level of susceptibility to getting hurt. It's a tight grip on her chest to see this Jung Wheein surprised and in disbelief after each story. After each explanation of each picture they shared.

She felt like a stranger. But maybe what hurts- confuses- drives Byulyi insane is that this Jung Wheein would look so different when she invites Byulyi to her studio, not to be her muse but to sing for her.

As if, and Byulyi may be a fool for thinking so, she's remembering things when Byulyi sings to her as she paints. This Jung Wheein would always tell her that her voice is soothing, calming, and it feels really familiar. Like a distant memory, a VHS tape her mind can't process, a scene she can’t replay. Or a dish she once had but can't name. Like she's trying. Like she’s trying to do exactly what Byulyi does. Like she’s trying to remember her.

Or maybe she wants to remember her. That's what hurts Moon Byulyi more. To see this Jung Wheein, try.

Try for her.

Even if her eyes look at her like she’s a stranger.

Even if she feels further away from who she was each day.

To see this Jung Wheein try to recall, try to repaint, try to remember how to look at Byulyi, how to be her old self, how to get everything back to how it was. Always- will always- pull Byul