It wasn't really a meadow.
All it really happened to be was a petty exaggeration of
the bland field, just near his house.
A flower that barely bloomed,
It'd be quite rare to find even a daisy or two.
Even if so, it was grasping onto dear life.
No one cared for the field,
it was just there.
Never had any value,
but "they", thought otherwise.
"They", loved the field.
Minho didn't.
The field oddly reminded him of himself,
which played him into hating it.
Because much like the field,
he despised himself quite a lot.
But "they", didn't.
YOU ARE READING
𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐠𝐢𝐚 ° 𝐥.𝐦
Fanfiction["These paintings are my story, for me to tell and for you to see] ↳In which he goes back through his paintings and revives the moments long gone.
