Life - haobin

11

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Hao had written it all down. He had noticed Hanbin's pain. He had taken inspiration from it. He had words flowing into his head by Hanbin's words, the misery of them and anguish in the tone flowing words into his paper, scribbles of drafts with Hanbin-inspired words

And Hao wanted to show the boy everything. He wanted to show him the words that created a story. The words that created a representation of Hanbin.

And so he had run to the boy's home at dawn, which was only a few three minutes away from his own, papers in hand as he scurried towards the small building. He had knocked and opened the door, knowing it would be unlocked. He hurried up a flight of stairs and silently entered the boy's art room.

What he had not expected, though, was to see the room empty. No color, no traces of brushes, and no canvases on the ground. It was empty. Only one canvas stood standing up, in the middle of the room, half-completed. Hao walked towards it silently, heart thumping against his chest as he took in the beauty of the painting.

It was ethereal, exquisite, every kind of beauty that one could describe. It was a beautiful field filled with all colors, blended carefully and chaotically into each other, spread across certain sections of the canvas in a rush. It seemed... ruined, but it was beautiful. It wasn't ruined for Hao. It was just the right amount of chaos and order.

A figure stood in the middle of the canvas, dark and black, with only a few traces showing its lines and curves to depict the features of the figure. As Hao looked closely, he noticed it wasn't one figure. It was two. Two dark figures

Hao's soft hands traced over the bumpy material of the canvas, through the corners and cuts of it, through the back of the canvas. He felt a paper underneath his touch, a material of paper that he had never used. He pulled it out from underneath the painting and peered at it. It was a letter, no name upon it, but Haao knew it what Hanbin's

He opened it carefully, eyes softly looking over the messy words written upon the paper;

~~~

Do you like the painting, Hao? Hopefully, you do. In a way, it reminds me of the painting that allowed us to meet, back at the art gallery.

I inverted it completely, though. It represents us, you see. The people, right there in the middle, dark and sombre, are us. I was the darkness, and when I met you, you became the darkness with me.

And then, the beautiful field that you can see, is the world. The world that awaits you in the mere future. I know it is waiting for you. It's a different path from mine, a more bright one. I won't be here with you, in this small town anymore. I am probably far away by now, maybe already on a plane to a large city where I will never get inspiration again.

And yes, you were right when we met. Artists don't typically like their own artwork. In fact, some hate it. As I look at this painting, it is the first time that I feel satisfied. I feel the emotions of it. I don't know what it is, but I feel it. Maybe because a part of me is in it, or maybe because a part of us is represented within its hold.

I hate it so much that I love it. That is its beauty. I have learned to accept it. That is the beauty of art.

Hopefully, you read this by the end of August, when the painting is finished. I hope that once it is, the feeling of something missing will vanish. I wonder why I still feel like something just isn't right. I put all my emotions, thoughts, and memories into this. So why, if it's so perfect, is something missing? Why, if I'm so satisfied with its beauty, do I feel like it needs something else?

Hopefully, you'll figure it out when you see it. You always figure it out. You have a keen eye for perfection, you know. Maybe that's what makes our personalities so different yet harmonic.

That's the beauty of art. The harmony between the colors, the brushes, the meaning and thoughts behind it. It needs to have chaotic balance. That's what makes us, me and you, so beautiful.

- Hanbin