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There were times, when he would go quiet, so quiet he wondered if the time was still flowing around himself.
He would leave the nest their have built and run to his dark corner of solitude, because when the happiness of being loved was too much, too overwhelming; his treacherous regret would remind him that had wronged his blood, that he has moved on to a better life - which wasn’t true because the cost of it, the decision on his hands was one of the most difficult ones he had ever taken, but he never knew he didn’t have to.
He had looked for a solution, for kindness, for a better life for both of them and he was just a kid. He had nothing, wanted to keep everything, but never knew how.
He wasn’t innocent, he knew it; but naïve.
From time to time, when everything was perfect in this present life, regret would crawl from under the bed, would grab onto his feet, would scratch his thighs, would blemish his hips’ skin, would slither to his chest and would lie there, over his heart, to remind him that nothing was perfect, that nothing was perfectly rhythmical in his life, that not perfect note over the keyboard would hide what he had done, who he has wronged; that the hands over the keyboard were the reflection of other hands that he let go of long time ago.
And it hurt.
It hurt so much that he would run to a forest where no music could be heard, only the heavy drumming of his heart, that made any storm to pale in comparison. Nothing else could be heard, but there was no silence either, just erratic compasses of a melody broken in past times.
He had wished for someone to reach him, but at the same time he knew it was up to him to let that someone in, and now he had that someone.
A someone that has lighted his world in perfect harmony of gentle hands, soft looks and caring kisses. Someone that wanted to go into that forest, that he wanted to let in.
Because he could bright the bleached leaves and fight the monstrous regret, that clung to his body, with the resonance of his warm voice alone, with the whispers of an unknown melody over his skin. With a song from his pure and loving heart.
He wanted every sound from this being.
He wanted everything with his Yunlan.
He wanted the rhythm, the notes, the pauses, the interludes, the arias, the bridges, the whole… symphony.
And he will have it, because he wanted to heal and be held in the arms of the everlasting sun that was his love.
*****
There were times when he would see him go inside his own forest full of music.
Where he couldn’t reach him. Where, no matter what, he couldn’t touch him.
In nights when the raindrops slid from the windows’ glass, when the thunders roared and echoed with the strings of his reserved soul. That soul that was pure and gentle and so full of regret, so full of fear for things he did when he had no option.
He could hear the song of his heart… loud, obnoxious, in disarray, in notes of sadness and regret he couldn’t stop listening to, that were deafening and weakening.
And he cried for him too, even if he didn’t notice.
He cried for that part he wanted to heal so badly, so forcefully; but it was a place he couldn’t go. It was a string he couldn’t mend, a scar he couldn’t kiss, because it was his, it was private, it was from the past and he had said he was his present and his future…
And he hoped, hoped so fiercely to help him heal, to warm him like the sun after the rain, to evaporate the traces of tears that kissed his cheeks during the passing of the dark clouds. To hold him in flames that would warm his heart and would illuminate the forest of his past, that would fly over every eroded rock, every muddy path, every discolored flower, every soaked tree… where there are no birds to sing of hope, to bring him back home with him.
And he would wait, because sooner than later, he would go into that forest and would kiss him in the sun, because even if he can’t take his sadness away, he knows that time would let him in and finally, he would cherish his Shen Wei under the sun of his love that would resonate as a vibrant song of life and love.