Work Text:
Two boys grew up side-by-side
and they were as different as night and day.
He was self-satisfied grins and wild impulsivity,
you were happy curiosity and open enthusiasm.
Do you remember?
Happiness was as round and full as the sun and the moon.
You looked up to his casual confidence,
his bold daring,
and his quick wits.
To you, he hung the moon.
So, you said,
you are my goal,
and you meant every word.
He was family and friend and comfort all at once.
You rested against his shoulder and thought,
if I have you by my side, everything will be alright.
But some things are not meant to last.
Somewhere down the path you chose,
you began to lose yourself.
You, who find heart-deep joy in people,
began to cut and cull lives
like separating chaff from wheat.
For the sake of the kingdom,
you murmur to yourself,
and the words are as pale and lifeless
as the face that meets your gaze in the mirror.
How many such reasons have you told yourself
to dull deaden kill
the living beating heart
that cries at the sight of every tear?
Maybe you started closing your eyes
since you were small,
maybe the injustices you gazed upon
slashed at your heart
until it was a hardened oozing mess,
maybe the bitter poison of hatred
whispered and seduced you to kill,
but when you begin
to see people as
numbers
and lives as
chess pieces,
you must lose a little something,
if only so you can meet your own eyes
and fall asleep on the moonless nights.
You hand over a part of yourself
with every ruthlessness that your hand deals out
for giving to others is to give to yourself.
You are a king now,
and you are growing into a leader bar none.
Subtle as a hand running over silk,
a quicksilver mind faster than a glance,
eyes that catch and trap everything,
and a mind that plays and wins chess
like it was born for it.
You outwit every opponent.
But do those sharp eyes see your childhood friend?
Would it hurt
to see the dark flinch of sorrow
that passes like a shadow across his face
every time your name is mentioned?
Does it hurt
to see how her eyes look hard and flat,
and yet strangely like that of a wounded animal’s,
when she looks at you?
Does it hurt
to see his eyes turn into those of a shark
when he saw you for the first time again;
the grieving bloodlustful hatred that
gripped him like a claw;
the feral way he turned on you
like he had forgotten who he was?
Soo-won,
turn back now,
before you lose every
inch
and
sliver
of yourself
to nothingness.
Your own eyes
look more and more lifeless and grim
as you take step after step
willingly and voluntarily
into a soulless place.
The boy you were –
sunny, affectionate, and kind –
would he rue what he would become,
or would he gaze
with resigned and determined eyes
upon the figure of you,
and accept this as the price
of righting a kingdom?
Turn back,
it is not too late.
But you and I both know
you will not.