༺Masterpiece༻

XIII :: Hours Past Midnight

"Slitting through the throats of dark alleys,
where desires still keep running,
I've seen embers of pain.
The colours from the pencils of the
inconsolable are still sticking to the tunes
where you keep visiting,
All throughout the day.

Your love still remains with me
yet I am unable to give you
what we covet, the life we cherish.
If my time was a twig, it's drying.
It has no more leaves.
Alas, so much of love came so close,
But it wasn't destined for me.

I will not be there to listen to your tiny broken tales
when one day you start picking up crystals with both your hands, alone.
Whom will I cry to when I return home,
hours past midnight?"

⊱ ───ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ─── ⊰

People have desires and these desires are put to silence only when their throats are slit inside an isolated place such as a tunnel or an alleyway, where no one would ever wonder who did it or how it happened.
Reiterating the inconsolable nature of the desires of human beings, it is similar to the colours flowing from a painter's pencil. A deeply engrossed painter has an uncontrollable and inconsolable passion for the colours he imagines in his mind. These colours are like the tunes that keeps visiting the lone lover. And these tunes remind him of her.

"Lieutenant general, what is that you find more important than eating your breakfast?" Heavily adorned in jangling badges and rustic boots, Chief Hardy Torres was stationed at the southern half of Korea, assisting the training camp of the junior lieutenants. General Torres, a torrent and ill-tempered man, did not appreciate any delays. And although he would have been rougher with anyone other, he had a softer side for Lieutenant J. Cheon Seok.

"Good morning, Sir! Sir, I have already had my breakfast and was using the remaining time to..." He kicked his feet on the ground, pursuing an attentive salute to his senior.

"Painting?"

"Y-yes, sir!"

"What is that you're painting?" Cheon Seok owned only one set of bright papers that his hyung had got him from Italy, back at his orphanage. The sketchbook mattered as much as his life to him.

General Torres seemed to understand the young man's sentiments towards the stash of papers. He carefully rummaged through it, a gentle curve appearing on his patched lips.

"Did you get your letter?" His voice, a throaty adenoidal voice, showed no signs of emotions as he spoke, steering through the pages filled with colours-and some left colourless.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I couldn't make out what you're indicating about."

"The letter you get every week. May I ask," General Torres closed the book shut, looking up at Cheon Seok, as he continued,"Who is that, that sends you the letter on every Wednesday without a fail?"

"That... Sir, is my, umm..."

"What is it, Lieutenant, that you're so hesitant to state?" The man gave a hoarse laugh, patting the young soldier on his shoulders.

"Sir..."

"It is your wife, or your girlfriend?" He sat down on the lieutenant's chair as he ordered the junior to sit down next to him. Cheon Seok pulled another unoccupied chair from the table next to his as he smiled frailly.

"Sir, she is my life. I am not entitled enough to call her my girlfriend because we are still on an unsteady note in our relationship. Neither have we been married. She is my, but the truest friend, and the best one of them." There were many things that Cheon Seok couldn't fear less, his love wasn't one of those. His love was strong, he believed that. And he prayed that the war ended, that he could go back to painting and farming with his love by his side.