Jongin looked out at the window of the train. Where a waning gibbous moon hovered in the firmament, like one single bright light hung on a vast black curtain, bestowing a very dim light upon the land and Jongin himself. It was a mildly windy night, the faint rumbling sound the train made, the swaying of trees and rustling of leaves combined to make one luring lullaby. The scenery was so comforting, so serene. Yet, as the rest of the passengers fall into a deep slumber, Jongin was wide awake. The constant whistle the train would make sounds like a forlorn cry in the night, recalling his memories.

Four years.

For four years Jongin chased his dreams, like how a puppy would chase its own tail, round and round and round.

And around he chased his dreams, so many times that Jongin even wanted to make Merry Go Around as his theme song if bitterness was what the song is suppose to express.

You see, it turned out to be those dreams that shatter no matter how hard you try.

*

“Hyung! I am going to be famous one day too!”

Jongin remembered the day he told Luhan that, hands waving in the air excitedly, trying to explain to his favorite hyung where he got the sudden idea from.

He saw dancers in a talent show on the small, old, black and white television they owned. As simple as that,  Jongin had a dream.

“Our little Jongin?” his hyung smiled the usual smile and ruffled Jongin’s hair. “Aigo, so cute,” Luhan pitched Jongin’s cheeks lightly before continuing helping their parents with farm duties.

Jongin pouted before he chased after Luhan, wanting to tell him more about this fantastic idea.

That year, Jongin was 7, Luhan was 11-years-old.

*

“I talked to Mom and Dad already, they agreed.” Jongin simply said.

“Jongin,” Luhan frowned slightly, “I am not sure about this… you going to a new environment alone.”

“Hyung, it’s not like it’s a different country or planet, I’ll be fine.” He laughed it off, “Mom and Dad aren’t worried.”

How come you’re not thinking about me? I worry. Luhan bit his lower lip but said nothing more.

On that summer day, Jongin was 13, Luhan 17.

*

Jongin was a failed dream catcher.

He falls, he stands up, falls again, stands, and falls.

Jongin kept hope, he kept faith. But none of them stayed long enough.

When he was tired, or just wanted to give up, he would think of Luhan’s smile. The twinkle in his eyes when they widen, the way his lips curl, the smell of fresh grass from working long hours on the farm. The thought started by pumping energy back into Jongin, but the results of this treatment eventually got reversed.

After how many washes of sweat stained T-shirts, use of medicine on bruised skin, refills of empty water bottles, he gave in. He could no longer hold in his emotions, the longing, the cries,