082. Evening
Siwon/Kibum
Completed: 12/29/07
7/100
Rating: PG. (It's pretty angsty though.)
(Hey, let's go to the archive!)
You know all the dramas lie, right? When your heart breaks, you don’t just stop functioning.
Sure, you might cry a little. You might even spend a day or two in bed, filling your stomach with sweet foods to lessen your heartache. Maybe you’ll share the pain with anyone who’ll listen, or you’ll just keep it to yourself. The other person never cares about your hurt, or maybe he never finds out.
No, you never stop functioning.
It starts to get better eventually. One day, you’ll find it’s easy to get up and dress yourself. When you leave the house, a body begging to sleep so it doesn’t have to live won’t hinder your steps. Work is suddenly just work and not reflection; being with your friends afterwards starts to sound fun again.
You’ll realize it suddenly, how long you’ve gone without hurting even a little.
But, you know that this is similar to other drama plotlines, now, don’t you?
Because by now you know the pain never completely ends either.
So, sure. It’s easy for me to get up in the morning. I wash my face, brush my teeth, grab something and dress myself. When I leave my bedroom, my dorm mates joke with me. I’m more than capable of smiling. I can still laugh, just so, behind my arm like always. Not because it’s cute or familiar, but because it’s what I do.
We go to work, together or separately. We talk, we dance, we sing, we film. The make-up brushes re-outline Kibum a thousand times over, and Kibum performs. He can smile; he can mean it. He can go to dinner with friends and enjoy himself. Hell, he can even get drunk with Heechul and keep from becoming a teary mess. Without acting.
But when I get home, half-falling with exhaustion onto my bed, I know.
I know how many hours I’ve managed to forget him. I measure the time to how long it was in comparison to yesterday. It gets easier to see his perfect face, take in his smile of white teeth and dimples. I can almost make him mean the same to me as the other eleven do. Almost.
But no matter what, he comes back to me in the evening. When the dorm is sleeping, I lie awake; the quiet provides me with no escape, and finally, the numb pain returns to the pool in my chest. It’s just until I can sleep. Just until I can sleep, full of prayers not to dream.
He doesn’t know and doesn’t have to. It’s not like I’ll tell him. He’s happy the way things are. That’s got to be enough for me. It almost is.
It’s getting easier.
Completed: 12/29/07
7/100
Rating: PG. (It's pretty angsty though.)
(Hey, let's go to the archive!)
You know all the dramas lie, right? When your heart breaks, you don’t just stop functioning.
Sure, you might cry a little. You might even spend a day or two in bed, filling your stomach with sweet foods to lessen your heartache. Maybe you’ll share the pain with anyone who’ll listen, or you’ll just keep it to yourself. The other person never cares about your hurt, or maybe he never finds out.
No, you never stop functioning.
It starts to get better eventually. One day, you’ll find it’s easy to get up and dress yourself. When you leave the house, a body begging to sleep so it doesn’t have to live won’t hinder your steps. Work is suddenly just work and not reflection; being with your friends afterwards starts to sound fun again.
You’ll realize it suddenly, how long you’ve gone without hurting even a little.
But, you know that this is similar to other drama plotlines, now, don’t you?
Because by now you know the pain never completely ends either.
So, sure. It’s easy for me to get up in the morning. I wash my face, brush my teeth, grab something and dress myself. When I leave my bedroom, my dorm mates joke with me. I’m more than capable of smiling. I can still laugh, just so, behind my arm like always. Not because it’s cute or familiar, but because it’s what I do.
We go to work, together or separately. We talk, we dance, we sing, we film. The make-up brushes re-outline Kibum a thousand times over, and Kibum performs. He can smile; he can mean it. He can go to dinner with friends and enjoy himself. Hell, he can even get drunk with Heechul and keep from becoming a teary mess. Without acting.
But when I get home, half-falling with exhaustion onto my bed, I know.
I know how many hours I’ve managed to forget him. I measure the time to how long it was in comparison to yesterday. It gets easier to see his perfect face, take in his smile of white teeth and dimples. I can almost make him mean the same to me as the other eleven do. Almost.
But no matter what, he comes back to me in the evening. When the dorm is sleeping, I lie awake; the quiet provides me with no escape, and finally, the numb pain returns to the pool in my chest. It’s just until I can sleep. Just until I can sleep, full of prayers not to dream.
He doesn’t know and doesn’t have to. It’s not like I’ll tell him. He’s happy the way things are. That’s got to be enough for me. It almost is.
It’s getting easier.