"Every man has his secret sorrows that the world knows not. And often time we call a man cold when he is only sad."
The perfect man.
Made rough through time.
He lies, yet he is the honorable one.
He kills, yet he is the most righteous.
He is gentle...
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The buzzing of the air conditioner was lingering yet like a soft murmur, continuously humming as if it was trying to compete with the mild buzz of the ventilator.
The first light of the morning was lighting up the inside of the room making the white room even more spacious.
Through the window beside the bed, the sun was looking like a chunk of gold made into a ball. The rising sun cast a rosy hue across the morning sky. Few golden fingers of sunlight were seeping through the incompletely drawn white curtains and lit up the scene.
The just risen sun shone softly on the city streets, bringing it with a flurry of early morning activities down in the alleys and parks.
The room seemed like an unfathomable eternity, running longer and longer so far the sight goes.
It was tiring and boring. But the sunlight was something else.
With the single arrow of sunlight falling on the bed, even the tiniest dust floating in the air was visible inside that beam.
The air pollution of Seoul was always remarkable. Even the dust in the air was here, high above on this floor, far from the street down.
It was hard to move the head as two pipes were going somewhere inside her body through her throat and her head was restrained in a position that was easy to connect with the ventilator machine.
She was weak. She just woke up, but the never-ending white wall was already making her tired and sleepy.
She blinked a few times to drive away from the blurriness but after each try, the eyelids turned heavier, and not even before a minute passed, she again fell asleep.
She opened her eyes once again after tired tries for a few minutes. And as if in a reflex, her eyes moved towards the skyline that was visible in her eyesight.
It was snowing.
The windowsill was heaped in snow. The cotton-like snow fell like a flurry, making the scene outside of this room just like how it was inside.
White.
Cold.
And distant.
Her eyelids once again met each other as she sank deep into her slumber once again.
When she again woke up, it was cloudy outside and continuous patter on the windowsill was reminding her of something so familiar, but at the same time, so confusing.
Why it was raining? In the middle of December? Wait, was it December?
Where did the pipes go? Nothing was going inside her mouth this time. How much time has passed? She closed her eyes.
The bee was buzzing continuously. Or was it the air conditioner once again? It was a bright day outside. She again closed her eyes as the bright light stung her sight.
