Mirror

I n t e r l u d e

|| r e - e d i t e d ||

막간

I n t e r l u d e

~ Jae-hyun ~

I LIVE IN MY HEAD.

The past twenty-one years are a blur of reality and fantasy. And as terrified as I am to admit it, I can no longer tell the difference between the two. It's said that the mind is a delicate place—that people should be careful of what they say as not to cause any permanent damage. But I wish those around me would say something because the events I remember... I don't know whether they occurred in the real world or with only my thoughts as a witness.

A wavering beam of moonlight dances across my pale skin as I raise two fingers to brush along the edge of my right cheekbone. Sharp and defined, it stings, but I couldn't tell you why. Did I stumble down the steps to my family's cramped apartment? Or did I somehow find myself face-to-face with my mother's ring laden fist?

I question why I am here, wandering around the busy urban streets of Seoul after dark, too. Am I meandering about without cause willingly? Or was I thrown and locked out for the night, left to make a home out of the city lights? Cold and alone, I don't remember. Both possibilities of what could have happened swirl around my mind, bleeding into my consciousness until I lose the ability to separate the two.

What is even real anymore?

Several clusters of stragglers litter the crossing ahead of me, clouds of frozen breath spilling from their lips. Some have cellphones pressed to their ear while others shuffle across the crossroads with their hands jammed firmly in their coat pockets. The occasional car rolls by, their headlights illuminating the tarmac and radios blaring in short bursts as they drive past.

With a sigh, I tilt my head to the stars. Muted by the glowing street lamps and the city's abundance of artificial light, they stutter weakly in the sky. They remind me of myself, tired, overlooked and forever outshone by something greater.

"Jimin!"

I flinch at the sudden loud noise, but don't make any effort to investigate the sound. The shout seemed more excited than desperate for help, and whoever they are calling for is not me.

Suddenly, a hand touches my shoulder. My gaze drops like a stone, settling on a young woman with a dog-eared notebook in her grasp. She's grinning as if she's just laid eyes on her idol, her rounded cheeks bunching up as her lips stretch to reveal a row of slightly crooked teeth. If she's looking at me like that—like I'm more than just a manifestation of disappointment and disorientation, then she probably thinks she has. Hovering behind her are several more people, all of them wearing expressions of pure delight.

"Oh my god, I can't believe this is happening! Jimin, I'm honestly such a huge fan!" she gushes, covering her mouth with a dainty hand as the words leave her lips. Twin pools of moisture begin to gather in the corners of her eyes, and in an instant, I know that the second I tell her that I'm not who she thinks I am—who she wants me to be, they'll change from tears of joy to ones of dismay.

"Ah, I'm sorry, but you have the wrong person," I apologise, feebly.

I'm not Jimin. Someone who Ji-han, my younger brother, says can sing like an angel and dance like the devil, and someone who I've noticed is undeniably talented in the art of hiding their pain behind a soft smile. Not when reality is as foreign to me as I am to the rest of the world. I'm not Jimin. I don't even compare.