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Jimin hoists himself up onto the rough stone of the little barrier wall that is meant to keep the locals off the little section of prime private beach. Once he is securely perched on the ledge he claps his hands to get rid of the little crumbs of stone that stick to the deep grooves of his hands, strong hands toughened by hard hard work at the port just over yonder. If he squints he can almost see it in the distance.
Tae hadn’t been lying when he said that the view was spectacular, and spitefully a little voice at the back of his mind adds It’s amazing, the things rich people can buy, don’t you think? Money can’t buy happiness, that’s what everybody struggling with their bills says to themselves to ease the blow- himself included. Money cannot buy happiness, but the comfort it affords you is pretty damn close.
Unfortunately, he can’t remember a time in his life where he wasn’t constantly pushing himself, trying to make rent at the end of every month, feeling that pain of emptiness when he emptied his little shoe box of bills into the landlord’s waiting greedy hands, eating top ramen with the knowledge that the fanciest thing he had had in a while is some grilled pork belly they’d had on a friend of a friend’s birthday. Life is so tough isn’t it?
He swings his legs a little, clothes ruffling in the almost humid breeze that carries heat, rising in waves from the steaming tar of the roads away to sea. It smells of salt and industry and that tropical smell that seems to be stuck in this place. He breaths it in greedily; deep inhales like he’s trying to cleanse his lungs of all the industrial shit of the week. He’d stopped smoking a few years ago, he’s not sure it’s making any impact now.
Breathe in, breathe out. The sun is setting, loving warm golden rays that caress the skin of his face before they disappear over the horizon, the clouds above her are turning a pink that cannot be manufactured. The water shimmers out from where it meets her; on the other side of the world there might be some sad son of a gun like him, sat alone, watching the sunset like a true emotional wanker.
-That’s what Tae had called him anyway, after a particularly emotional post-booze walk home. For some reason it had stung a little, and even he had felt silly when clearly his friend had probably (he doesn’t know these days) never meant to hurt him. It had bugged him the whole week. Then it had hit him, he’d read it on a post somewhere- how it’s painful when people say true things about you like they are meant to be insulting.
Breathe in, breathe out.
It’s only been a few minutes but the sun’s almost fully gone. It begins to turn into twilight and it’s like a switch is flipped. He hadn’t been able to hear it before but now the cicadas sing with fervor to welcome the moon in her fourth phase. She glitters in a far corner as her sister descends, ready to take center stage as soon as the first act is over; her face in shadow looks down at him and he feels…
And in the distance, near the docks the lighthouse is on, she winks, trying to lure her boat shaped lovers back to shore. There’s bite to the breeze now, and it moves faster, tearing into the gaps in his ripped jeans, scratching skin. Jimin, for all his intolerance to cold cannot find it in himself to move. He feels like a part of the wall. The sunset is spectacular, the sea even more so with the vastness of her water, her daunting depth, she smashes into the sand in waves of increasing fervor-
He has never felt so small.
He leans back to soak it all in; it’s comforting, the way in which nothing here remotely cares about him-and he doesn’t know when he began chasing this feeling, under bodies and substances varying, breathing harshly, reminded that he is just a smudge in the fabric of time. He guesses, on the days where he bothers to think, that there is some comfort in knowing that nothing really matters. For a long time he’s been holding this philosophy close to his heart, fearing that if he let go he would fall.
He really is an emotional wanker- it almost pulls a laugh out of him but the moment has arrested his muscles. He really cannot move. He watches evening unfold with quiet, blinking eyes. Breathing in, breathing out. Slow like the roll of water far out in the sea, and it’s almost trance like. He’s never felt so at peace, so numb, so untouchable. Insignificant.
And maybe when the trance is over and the darkness returns he’ll finally get the strength to move. Maybe he’ll get some of the good ramen instead, splurge a little-self love and all that bullshit. He might even call Taehyung today, give him a little review of the wall on the beach. He could even put on some music and dance, God knows he hasn’t done that in a long time.
All of them the small little things that constitute his life but with this feeling comes appreciation for the smallest of things, they hold a beauty that cannot be replicated.