i.d.
There is no right way to be an artist.
Of course, these are the last words Laila offered when I decided to run off in pursuit of an unrealistic dream. That no matter where I went, an artist grew its skill from the heart. Six months in though, I'm still not quite sure as to why South Korea fed my starving artist soul. It's this unsureness that has left me in the eternal paradox questioning my being outside my creation.
And a while an elaborate answer would do fine, I could go even simpler to say that it was as miniscule as a boy. A sharped nose man with ink colored hair; the complexity of his character yet simplicity of his being made me curious and warm all over.
Like butterflies blooming over and over again in my rib cage, his silhouette set free to a flock of continuous nirvana. When you've used charcoal for the first time and your hands are dirty, but the mess you've made feels so fucking good. This, this was him.
This was more than male or project. This was art in its purest form.
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immaterial girl
Fanficin which an idol who's lost his way and a struggling artist cross paths. an im changkyun fic. for legal purposes everything written in this story is purely fictional. all rights reserved.
