Maybe I was being idealistic, when I said things like that didn’t matter. Or maybe it was out of desperation that those words were born. Out of hopelessness that I tried to believe them

When I first saw kyungsoo, he was crying. Which was strange because nothing about his physical appearance betrayed any signs of grief or even mild disturbance. Even his eyes, large and bottomless, shaped perfectly like twin moons that could carry one from this world forever, were void of emotion. His hands moved busily, working to twine long stems together into a neat braid and unhindered by the tears that clung trembling to his chin before dripping over dried and cracked knuckles. He was beautiful then (as he will always be to me) and I couldn’t help but be entranced. I approached him, wanting to give comfort, companionship, something, to this beautiful creature that sat alone braiding daisies on such a drab day. But when I was faced with those wet orbs, barely even tinged pink from the multitude of tears he had shed, I couldn’t even speak.

So I stood there.

Eventually he turned from me and continued his work, diligently pushing and pulling the flowers together, gentle so as not to cripple or bruise a single petal. It could have been hours that we stayed there in that silent and suffocating companionship. By the time he was done, the street lamps surrounding the park had already been lit, though the sky was still that fickle shade of periwinkle that could cling to the sky for another hour or disappear from one blink to the next. We admired his work for a moment together and he looked at me, thick eyebrows raised to flirt with the ragged tips of overgrown black hair. When he stood I was surprised by how tall he was, his forehead just breaching my chin. He had looked so tiny, huddled on that damp bench over his crumpled flowers. He reached up slightly and as if pushed by something ethereal, a force from without this world which knew before I did his intentions, I bowed my head to him. It felt so appropriate, this display of submission to this sad little prince. But the crown of daisies was settled on my head rather his noble black sheen. By the time I looked up, his back was to me and he was already moving away, taking his sad moon eyes with him.

“Can I love you?”

“It’ll be a waste of your time.”

“It’s my time to decide what to with.”

“…”

“….”

“Well. I suppose you won’t have to waste it for long anyway.”

I deceived myself into thinking, at that time, that they were words born from doubt of my youthful heart. So overjoyed by the opportunity to fulfill my selfish desires that I could not see the resignation pressing like hot coals into his back. I would blame Kyungsoo for taking my juvenescence if I had not given it away to him so freely. At the tender age of eighteen my love for the daisy boy with the moon eyes made me a man. But if I were to cite one regret it would be that I found him so late. That I wasted so much time on frivolities when I could have been by his side, loving him. I will never be swayed from the belief that my existence was for his sake, my soul crafted for his pleasure. So to know that I hindered my purpose for those eighteen years is more remorseful than any hurt born from my love.

“Will you never stop loving me?”

It was never a challenge, but a plea. Moon eyes and butterfly lashes imploring me to stay by his side forever. That he even had to ask, that the knowledge of my loyalty, of my adoration, was not inherent to him, was always indicative to me of my failures.  A sign that I had to try harder, love him louder, until the lullaby of his every night would be the reassuring beat of my own heart pressing against the safe confines of his chest. Because even if he did not know it, never knew it until the end, my heart was completely and totally his from the moment I saw those narrow shoulder peeking over a damp park bench. Even if he never heard it, Do Kyungsoo was the name in every breath I took and every thought I had. Do kyungsoo the feel on the tips of my fingers, the taste perpetually on my tounge. Do Kyungsoo was (is) my life and my dream, the persistent press of  a pulse against my skin

“I’m very sick. I won’t get better.”

“Don’t say those-“

“Jongin.”

Sad (beautiful) moon eyes and (wet) butterfly lashes.

“I won’t get better. I won’t be here forever.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

And at the time I meant it. Because my selfish heart only wanted him, to share the air he breathed while he could still breath it. To beat against his body while it was still warm in my arms. At the time it didn’t matter because to my hopeful soul it wasn’t real. And perhaps I was not yet a man after all, because that childish naiveté clung bullishly to the backs of my eyelids and painted the world in the only color I wanted to see, the color of Do Kyungsoo. A color I refused to believe would ever fade from my life that was lived for his sake.

“Every moment of my life was spent with you. Before you came to me, I existed for the wait. The wait to go to the hospital, the waits between the pain, the wait to die. You gave me everything, Jongin. And I can honestly say that I am glad to have been born so that I could live what little there was of my life for you.”

So maybe it was idealistic, to believe I could escape this unscarred.

This evil love. This painful love.

This wonderful love.

“I love you, Kim Jongin. And nothing could ever have given me more happiness than living to love you.”

And I wondered to myself then, just before butterfly lashes fluttered for the last time and shining moon eyes dimmed just a little, how long it had been since those moon eyes shown so brightly, became so expressive and full of life. Became so beautiful.

At twenty-four I am already an old man who has lived out a lifetime. A dazzling lifetime full of wonder and warmth, and yes, a little bit of pain. But I will never regret a single heart beat that was dedicated to kyungsoo, would never wish for a different journey. And I will always remember the drab day where I found a boy with butterfly lashes and sad moon eyes braiding daisies as the luckiest day of my life.