The Flower Path We Walked // BTS

ғɪʀsᴛ ʟᴏᴠᴇ [ᴍ.ʏɢ]

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• 10-31 Nonhyeon-dong, Gangnam-gu, Seoul, South Korea •
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May 9th, 2015

Exactly 4 days after BTS's first #1 win on  SBS the show with I NEED U, title track  to their 3rd mini album,
The Most Beautiful Moments in Life pt.1

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••  2:47am  ••

     The level, ivory keys taunted him. They begged for his touch, yet deflected at the slightest sign of it, refusing to liaise with him, but continually calling for his skill to make use of them.

He stared aimlessly at the keyboard positioned in front of him, scanning his quiet mind for a starting point. For a man who's first endearment had been to the very instrument, he was finding this a bigger challenge than ever before. The standards on his creations had risen, leaving his youthful, uncaring attempts at composing long behind him. He was now pressured to write for a crowd, rather than for his own enjoyment. He no longer had the reassurance that no matter how disordered and careless his attempts were, his mother would be there to listen with an open mind and ensure he felt accomplished with himself. It was his turn now, to be the one to comfort. To be the one to bring people towards their own safe places.

His hands lifted simultaneously as he straightened his back from its prior rested state against his chair, laying his tensed fingers on the refined surface of the keys yet again. This action alone was something he had repeated no less than seven times within the last hour. Each timeless enthusiastically than the last, his confidence slowly draining.

He sighed audibly, lowering his head in frustration. His hands relaxed, letting his palms feel the cool veneer of the keys and he let his eyes flutter shut.

He'd never seen composing as much of a novelty but never as a chore. It wasn't something he'd set out to do, but definitely not something he'd planned to do for a living.

Having learned the piano from a young age as most kids had at some point in their childhood, his mother's passionate approach towards the Instrument was really what had made it stick as a habit, though never trespassing to any higher ambition. He had other things in mind. Equally musical, but evidently less classical and calm.

It wasn't common to see an aspiring rapper take such interest in something so classy and elaborate. He was often taunted despite his obvious talent but never cared to drop it. Not until his teenage years at least when he found his eagerness for the Instrument faltering as his mind began to roam and focus on his more juvenile fantasies.

A dedicated man at heart, he began again years after this slip of mind, unable to bear the guilt he felt every time he heard a song his mother had taught him, distinct pictures of her smiling face flashing my his vision as he recalled how and when he'd learned each song.

Like his mother had been, the instrument was understanding. It fostered him without a doubt and retaught him everything he'd forgotten, helping him retrain his Patience and self-discipline along with his hands and back. It wasn't hesitant to hear the creations he made out of boredom and encouraged his more elaborate attempts later on. He found himself unconsciously searching for any blank page, unused notebook, and empty drawer to put to better use.

Ingenious was an understatement for how he felt. He felt accomplished to his mother, whom he'd only ever watched do the masteries he was now able to complete himself and as common as it may be, this was enough temporarily to place him at the top of the world, finally at peace with his mother. He had pulled his own dreams far back enough to accomplish hers first.

With time, he began to feel more weight to his once thoughtful actions. The more he repeated these situations in his head he began to realize the fault in his doings. The fault in putting his own dreams aside to satisfy someone else's. Be it family or not. There was no lie to his love for playing, nor was there a lie in saying that it wasn't only with it, but because of it that he had gained his passion back. but he knew that it wasn't solely the life he wanted for himself. Somewhere, barely breathing, his youthful dreams still lay waiting for him.

He used his own dedication and altered it to fit his dream, praying to his own gods that it would stretch far enough to take him to where he could fully feel like himself. He never believed in luck.

His longing for success became almost as strong as his fear of it. He willed. He gave it his everything and he made it. The grueling nights and indigent struggles had turned into something extraordinary like he always hoped they would.

The life was his. The dream was his. He'd never heard of someones ever getting that far on pure passion and dedication. Yet he'd done it himself.

The journey was worth a biography all for itself. He was a rapper and a respected one at that and to this point, where he sat, close-eyed, hovering over the very cause for his success, he had it all.

He had a family that stretched farther than a mother, a father, and a brother. He lived to change the lives of those who were frozen in time like he once had been. He had all the glory anyone could ask for, along with an unfathomable amount of love aimed at him and his music.

He often found himself guilt-ridden at the thought of taking all this glory for himself. After all, nothing other than his ideas were his own. He owed Everything to the other factors of his life.

The way he saw it, his success had come not so much from him, but from the countless nights he'd spent in silence, similarly frustrating to this night, with a notebook, a pencil, and many failed attempts at a Melody. He'd pushed through those and he's still willing to push through more, all for the same reason. All for the same being.

His eyes slowly opened themselves, taking their time to readjust to the darkness of the room. A lazy smile found his face as he lifted his head enough to stare at the keys of the piano once more. He could feel his thoughts mix in the ways they used to before the fame when it was only them two, alone to experiment with their ideas freely without the judgment of the outside world.

He found himself enamored with this trial and error, knowing that he had the power to make people feel what he wanted. He fear of success was no less than it had ever been, but when he saw the way it changed others, he couldn't help but wonder if they felt what he once had, after his long-awaited return to his first love. And if they did, then it was all worth it. A love like that wasn't one to waste.

"The corner of my memory

A brown piano settled on one side

In the corner of my childhood house

A brown piano settled on one side"