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Your eyelashes are wings of dragonflies that you chained to you with rusty iron chains. You even stopped smiling, what did the sun, heavy with clouds, do to you? I’d like to know what’s spinning and dancing in your head, if it is really just me that’s so far, so far away, or you’re Farout. You’re a comet in a comet storm. You only stand out because yours is the brightest light and I look at the sky, at night, just because you like to peer at it. And I’m so in love that I missed hours upon hours of sleep in favour of your smile. I’d pay gold just to hear your laugh again, anew, for the first time.
You’re a shattered heart, we both are. Maybe that’s why I like you, maybe it’s just your sleepy, blissful, quiet face. Perhaps it's your warm hands on mine, distant, perhaps your eyes, shinier than a thousand moons. My splintered heart, however, beats so fast, compared to yours, that sometimes it gets lost while looking at you. And when it reaches your speed, oh, when it catches up with you and finds your eyes caressing sadly the perfect curl of the waves of the stormy sea, it pauses and collapses on the ground, exhausted by your beauty.
Would you be happy, if I gave you my heart? I bet you think I have one, right? You’ve suspected that since I tried to tell you that I had lost more than I got back. I speak too little, right? It’s that I can’t free my tongue, it’s that I fear I may not have enough courage, that maybe I know that if I started talking, if I even just started thinking about it, I wouldn’t stop.
My eyes are dry because you told me I should save my tears for the good times, remember? That I had to cry at the passing of a shooting star only if I knew I could make my wish come true. My wish was you, even if you tell me that these are desires to be silenced, those you long for all by yourself. But I would shout it a thousand times, even if I had to break a thousand magical moments, if you were to become, even for a second, my supernova. And if I, in the meantime, had become Kepler.
But if I could, if only I could, I would let a thousand rivers, a thousand lakes flow from my tired eyelids. They’re so tired of being open just to watch you run from behind, especially when you go and grab your dreams with your child’s hands, a little selfish but still made out of stars. You shine of a light bright enough to see all my innermost fears, if you ever were to get too close. And for a while, I was fine with having you look in my chest and gaze at yourself in the shattered mirror I swallowed just for you. For a while, I had deluded myself that, by reflecting in me, in my reflection, you could realize that my pen always writes for you, that my eyes are always looking for you. That you will always be that muse with eyes burning with a thousand flames to make me fall in love again, again and again.
And again, until I die out of love.
What an infamous sad end for a sad man who thought he would survive his hardships until the hand of God suddenly grabbed his Achilles' heel (you, in my case) and dragged him, screaming, stunned, extinguished, as he was, in Hell. If I go to Hell (and I will), I will send you a postcard. Maybe I’d pour some poorly held laughs in there, just to make you laugh. A picture of me wearing sunglasses, roasting marshmallows on the flames of Satan’s throne and forcing him to smile at the camera.
I would yield to my will the whole Creation, if you would ask.
And yet, you stopped smiling. Smiling at me. I now recognize even your fake smiles from the real ones. You’re stealing oxygen from under my nose, you’re forbidding my body from its lifeblood. I remember the two of us, lying on that meagre tarp, you with your feet on the damp sand and half of your body on mine, looking for a comfortable position. And me, on Perdita just because I was with you. All I needed was your heartbeat, so close that I thought I was finally alive. Weren’t you of the same opinion? You think it’s easy for me to have you so close and pretend that your perfume isn’t the first thing I hope to breathe in the morning? You looked at the sky with those lost child's eyes, losing their clouds, giving them to the sea, and you told me that you had found love.
And my name stopped making sense, coming from your lips. Because worse than that I thought I couldn’t hurt, but then the spring came, and with it, your wonderful share of love. You seemed so hopelessly in love that the first thing I did was to check that your love had eyes as bright as yours when it looked at you. I found reductive that brief sparkle gifted to its eyes by the lights, but I kept silent. Something told me that it was okay to wait for my wound to heal with your smiles, born again because of flesh, bones, and muscles all coming from other people’s bodies. I would have sacrificed myself, for you, and you know it.
I did. And you collapsed under the weight of the little house of cards in which you had taken refuge so as not to listen to the voice of your conscience, which knew and whispered in your ear that this would be yet another broken heart. And you came back. And I welcomed you, as always, because that’s what I do every time. And then you came back to me again, introducing me to a new "flame," and I knew I was gonna lose you. I was right, wasn’t I? Because then your hands are very close and you look for each other without you really wanting it. And you don’t smile at me anymore. And I, suddenly, am just a spectator of this carousel of which I thought to be a, albeit waiting in the background, important part.
Suddenly, I’m Proxima Centauri and you’re Canopus. Or maybe we’ve always been, and I’ve always thought that you would have turned around and waited for me.
«Look up in the sky and you will find two stars that shine exactly with the same power: it’s you and me, Yoongi hyung.»
Isn’t that right, Jimin-ah?