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Hao had the painting on his bed, the colors complimenting the plain colors of his bedsheets. He had a pen by him, dripping with dark ink, falling onto the empty parts of the composition. Hao wrote what he felt on the unfinished canvas, the ink sliding down onto the material, tracing dark and thick lines. He wrote with his own feelings... something that he had always deprived himself of from the start of his writing career.
He wrote it all down, not caring if any of it made sense. He wrote down words of feelings, merging his words with the words he had written about Hanbin days back. He wrote words of pain, anger, joy, everything. It was so simple. Everything he wrote was simple, put into short and curt words. But the simplicity of it was so beautiful. Feelings. Feelings are beautiful.
And once Hao stopped desperately writing on the empty spots of the canvas where Hanbin had not painted, he made it stand up against the headboard of his bed, looking upon it with a nostalgic expression
It was beautiful. It was significant. It was finally complete.
It was the most precious piece of art Hao had ever laid his eyes upon.
He hated it.
⋆｡° the end °｡⋆
YOU ARE READING
Life - haobin
FanfictionA small and beautiful town, a painting of feelings created by Hanbin. A small and beautiful town, a story of love created by Hao. So what is missing? Why do all the bright colors seem so dull?
