I ran the tip of my thumb slowly over his tongue, a soft drag, like testing silk against skin. The caress wasn't rushed. It was reverent. Drawn out. Almost... tender. Charged not with lust, but longing. Deep, quiet longing. My thumb pressed down lig...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
J U N G K O O K
Love was beautiful, they said.
Love was art. Love was poetry. Love was music.
Love was perfect.
Was it though? Was love beautiful?
Some may have said love was beautiful.
Say, they were the lovers who ruined its beauty.
But if those lovers couldn't hold onto its beauty and continue to expand it, could they even be called true lovers?
Love—such a common word, thrown around so often, even when the speaker didn't mean it, that the real meaning of it was forgotten.
Love, what did it even mean?
For some, love meant getting hugged by their parents when they were sick. For some, it meant coming home to their significant other after a hard day at work. For some, it was nestling against their puppy while their world fell apart.
And for some, it meant bearing a curse.
A burden.
A strong sense of sadness, hurt, and never-ending misery.
Speaking of, love, which was known for being never-ending itself, never actually lasted forever.
When did it ever, anyway?
So many kinds of love, so many definitions, yet only a few cases of genuine love could be seen.
Love at first sight was even fewer.
Rarer.
The kind that made you want to be better from just a sight.
They said it was in the eyes—in the moment when two pairs of orbs locked and something unspoken bloomed. A spark, unexpected yet sure, igniting a warmth within like it always existed.
They spoke of the world slowing down, but perhaps it didn't. Perhaps simply nothing else mattered.
And for the ones caught in that instant, caught in love, could only hear the wild pound of their hearts as their minds tried the hardest to make them move—to move forward, to move on. The rest of the world blurred away, perhaps carried away.
But with them, in that fleeting moment, they were certain that they had to know everything, had to find all the pieces of the other.
Even if it was impossible, even if it wasn't real—those who experienced it swore it was undeniable.
Sometimes, I wondered if such sayings were true or not. Especially when all it occurred to me as some irrational form of mythic perfection.
