𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐨𝐮

𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍

War.

There will always be this beautiful fuming war inside of ourselves. But so will there around us, war has its own unconventional beauty.

It's a worry and a great wonder, something that forever is written in the textbooks. It will one day bring us a disgusting sense of awe when we read it. War is like the first day of school and the last day of living our lives. It may be like a baby's first bottle or a murder's last meal.

At times war makes me angry. Angry that these politicians are fighting for something worthless, at times I just want to lock them all in a room. Let them kill themselves until that creature who is livid can get his mercy.

Do monsters make war or does war make monsters?

Honestly, the answer is ambiguous, it's something I'll probably never know. Only if I experience it first hand.

Marcus was my uncle. We are the same age and even if his eyes are closed, he'll always be beside me. In some way or another, he was my brother.

Marcus died a little over a year ago when he had been deployed to Iran after months of training and passing the final test. I still remember the day he had called me at two in the morning almost sobbing as he told me the news of him passing his exam. I was proud of him and his hard work and how he had finally finished his time trains. After all of the blood, sweat, and tears he had to produce just so that he could make his dream come true. He left, that day in his military outfit. A bright smile on his face as he spoke with everyone. Hugged them. He hugged me too after sharing the same meal we'd always eat as children, grilled chicken sandwich and apple juice as we both fought over the toy car he had found in his room. I had won it after various games of Rock Paper Scissors shoot.

We spoke with each other for a few months, it was more than a year ago m today when I had gotten the last call from him. Telling me about his day and the women he was able to save along with how he had given some of the children water and food. His water and food.

At times I'd have to scold him, he'd go days without eating just to give it to others. Starving himself because his heart was made of gold and to him, others were more important than himself. He'd lose weight, once he had lost up to ten pounds just because he hadn't eaten in two days. It had everyone worried and we all tried to speak with him. Talk him into eating some snack over the phone, but he wouldn't he was a Jeon. A stubborn Jeon. That was when I began to abhor my last name.

Surprisingly- Marcus did know about Taehyung. He always wondered and he asked what it was that had made our friendship fall.

Girl problems. I remember telling him and watching as he nodded before walking away to go scream at some of his friends who were drinking the beer hidden inside his bedroom.

I didn't want him to be upset because of me. So I kept my mouth shut and I never dared to tell anyone.

I remember at two in the morning, waking up to my father sobbing in the kitchen. Head in hands as he cried out, there was this broken thing to the sound of his wailing. It was broken, disgusting, agonizing- sad. Sad because he never really spent much time with his little brother.