"Life is about give and take; you know this better than anyone; the deal is clear, either you take an in, or war it shall be.
"It's indeed give and take, so why do I feel like the only one who gives without receiving anything in return?"
"Because th...
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The air was crisp, raw, and ruthless in its touch, a contrast that dazzled your feverish heart, which was suffering from the renewal of a grief you thought you had overcome and left behind.
But no. The speed did not erase the memories, flashes of images raced against the wind like the trees that lurked in the landscape, fading into nothingness and everything at once, ghosting through the vision like a caress that was a taboo to be seen, to be acted upon, even if the urge and need for it was so unadulterated.
The scent of pine and a promised winter failed in the aid of escape, yes it did, and you figured out, after all these years, that Jimin will always remain a faint hope, a promise of a warm afternoon in freezing weather, a bright sun on a day dominated by profuse transpiration of nature and shades of gray, and when you hit the throttle yet another time, whirling through traffic like a butterfly in a botanical gardenia, you promised that you would give up on whatever remained intact from the torn thread of hope, to give up prayers and resign yourself to the color palette chosen by fate.
For you finally understood that hope is the quickest ticket to misery, a VIP seat reserved for those who believed in the romanticization of a word so shallow, overblown by midnight ink and seeping candle wax, akin to the brush-wielder in exhaustion, the trickster who juxtaposed the reality of his feelings with bright words and heavy meanings, false promises that managed to make him feel that tad bit better, but shook the very foundations of the vocabulary.
Because hope actually means misery.
The next right turn took you up a hill, a steady pattern of curves that made for a surge of feelings that veered away from melancholy and were more like the release one often feels when sighing the last breaths of an exhausted body, and then you realized you could revel in the poisonous serendipity along with the behemoth that vibrated with each eager thrust, screaming for life for you, just like you brushed near the thin line of death for it.
From where you had parked the Kawasaki, you could almost make out the details of the interior decor that characterized the place, or at least bits and crumbs of what the bright lights behind the large glass wall that framed the small villa plated for you. That is, until you got off the bike, took off your helmet, stroked Hazelnut after thoroughly taming the unruly curls, and got a good look at the propinquities without the distracting tinted glass hiding minute details. Beautiful, you thought, the way the dim sconces emphasized the bashful hue of the tiles and poured their praises over the brighter spotlights that lit the fountain like dazzled stars, creating a ceremony for the orchestra that played melodies of cascades and rivers.
But when you took a few steps closer, the view of the interior became clearer, the vaguely shown details could now be given names, and your hunch and tiny knowledge told you that for sure Teo Yang was involved in the creation of this secluded haven. Further strides and a deeper look at the glass wall brought the large, beige, L-shaped couch into view, which actually was hard to avoid eye contact with, as the design was minimalist and the piece of furniture was pretty much standing out in the middle of the void, facing the exposed wall in full glory.
