he paints with lies ❆ kookmin

۵ೃ༄

Words are, in my not-so-humble opinion,
our most inexhaustible source of magic.

J.K. Rowling

۵

In the end, we'll all become stories.

Margaret Atwood

❁ཻུ۪۪⸙͎.'

Copyright Ⓒ 2018
First edition
All rights reserved

Plagiarism is a crime

Second edition chapters
are marked with; ✭

❁ཻུ۪۪⸙͎.'◦• ⊱›──────────
┄┄┄┄┄┄ೃ⊰ ꙳

❁ ⊱› January 2060

It was a particularly chilly winter evening; one of those that has you shivering even as you snuggle into the warmest blanket that you own. He could testify to that, as that was exactly what he did where he sat curled up on the sofa. The cup of tea nearly burnt his palms as he searched for warmth in it.

The house felt too spacious sometimes, all alone in await of the only person that made it feel like a home. He was still completely and utterly bad at waiting, after all these years. Perhaps you could even say that he had gotten worse.

He looked away from the rattling windows, that he could barely see through due to the snowstorm. It reminded him of that winter, many years ago, when his life took a sudden turn for both better and worse. The bittersweet memory was still clear like the brightest of days in his mind.

He averted his gaze to his cup of tea, and the grey journal made its presence known through his peripheral vision. There was a desperation that came with the mere thought of the fact that this was his last idea. The last idea that would not include some kind of manipulation or force. It was unlike him to even consider such methods, and it scared him to think that he did not really know himself.

He knew why Taehyung refused treatment; he did not think there was anything to fix. That was why he wondered how he had still not found a way to convince him. It was also the reason why he worried that this idea would fall flat. In that case, he probably did not know Taehyung as well as he thought.

A shaky sigh escaped his lips as he reached for journal, and the pen laying on top of it. The flowery scent of the little shop where he had purchased it clung to the pages, and wafted through the cold air as he opened it. There was a slight quiver to his hand as he let the tip of the pen dance over the thick paper.

❁ཻུ۪۪⸙͎.'

Dear Taehyung,

I want to tell you a story, that is different from the ones I have read for you at night. I want to make sure that you do not have to feel regret as you grow older, as one day, I will no longer be around to tell you this.

The stories that I have read for you never explained the concept of love. They never explained that the foundation that a loving relationship is built upon is trust. Trust in that you will be there for them when they need you, that you will tell the truth when they ask you to, and that they know who you are.

You know that all children lie, and still they are loved. But, you see, as they grow up they learn that trust is important, and only earned by being truthful. So, when you are ready; let me teach you; read this journal.

All my love,
your harabeoji.