Taemin didn't know why he was getting melancholic sometimes. Sometimes, he was getting in a kind of sad and anxious mood. He had always been a bright child. He started walking, talking and counting earlier than most of kids. He also wasn't one of those prodigy children about whom he saw few programs on TV.
Taemin was always interested in learning new things. He loved to know. He was always pretty good at practical apply of all the things he ever tried, but it was knowledge that counted. Not deep scientific knowledge of one chosen discipline, but knowledge about how the world works. The most important bits of everything around.

Taemin was introverted. He wasn't sure how to behave with people around or how to convey his emotions and thoughts, so he often gave off impression of slightly rude and unreachable.

Taemin felt like he himself was vowen of different pieces of everything that was possible to put into human being. Innocent but sultry, humorous but serious, strong but sensitive. It always confused him. It felt good and amazing, but at the same time frustrating.

Taemin felt sure he knew what love is. On one of his theoretical knowledge levels,  but when he concentrated he could almost feel it for real. Bittersweet. He could undertand it, taste it, but never had it. He knew love was something magical - not in a context primitive romantic movies were showing it, although still right in some sense. To him, every person was a completely new different world, so it was what people called magic that these two worlds could connect to each other and develop a strong bond. He wanted to believe into soulmate thing, but with time he was getting more and more insecure.

Sometimes, once in a while, he felt incredibly anxious and scared. With all the knowledge he had, he felt like there wasn't much time of life left for him. He felt like he would die soon, and die young. Young by years - inside, he felt old. Old and tired, energy that he had disappeared. Maybe his soul was a flame that had burned to strong, too fast, not leaving much behind. Still, he wasn't ready to die. He wanted to live. Not for the life itself, but just in case - there was still a chance, incredibly small, that something significant will happen, something that would be new for him, something to explore. It won't last for long, but maybe it would give him some time of joy or even happiness.

Taemin felt like his emotions were the kind that appered in his mind like a word written on a paper - it was there, he could see it and sense it to some extent, but he had no idea what to do with it. He was laughing with very few friends he had, he was crying when he was tired and had very bad mood, but he never expressed everything loud and clear like other people did. Because what for?

Nothing new was new for long. He realized once that the beauty of life was that it had no sense. It relieved him, calmed down. It were people who made living complicated and hard. Building complex systems to find an explanation for things, to sort them out and classify. Taemin never understood why. For him it had no sense - he just understood and felt everything at once, as a whole, as a one single compressed thought he couldn't express with words or anything else, it just existed - so why try to squeeze it into strangling frame of models and theoretical formulations? In university where he studied that was the way people were learning, but it was only confusing him, slowing him down and make everything harder. He couldn't understand things they found easy, but things hard for them were obvious to him.

Life had no particular goal. It's only sense was to live. It wasn't about the effect, it was all about process. Taemin always enjoyed process of doing or learning more that the effect, so he was frustrated when his preferred way of order was out of his undertanding right now. It was a relief to know there was no goal he had to race for, but living for living was scaring him a bit. It was slow, boring, painful. Taemin wanted a faster rythm, better pace. Days spent at university, at work, even doing thing he enjoyed to some extent - it was all too slow. He couldn't imagine slowing down.

Maybe, Taemin thought, he was just tired, that simple. Maybe he just needed to sleep, and when he would wake up everything would suddently and magically become easy and plain. He knew it won't, but he always hoped. Taemin was always hopeful, and he realized that it was that that was keeping him alive.