Popular Song [Jigyu]

Color 30

'I am not good enough.

I am not worthy enough.

It all doesn't matter, I am not good enough in his eyes.'

Silently, the musician sat in the dull colored practice room. Sky cloudy and barely any sunlight entered the room through the large window, the sunlight faintly casting upon himself and the piano before him. Phone in hand, loosely holding as any moment he could feel himself letting go of the device in hand. Fingers barely holding on, and deep down, the pain twisted within his chest as his own thoughtfulness had clouded his head. It was already Friday and he hasn't clarified with his step-mother. For the past days, he had busied himself with his composing and his boyfriend's random visits, as the two could not bear to forget each other. 

They are addicted to each other's company and supposedly, Jihoon could recognize the worthiness he felt underneath his lover's gaze. However, it seems like the loneliness of the room's presence has only dragged him down to his own pit of sorrow, once again. These emotions are reoccurring whenever he isn't busy or he is alone, as no distraction could lead him away from the ocean he hears. Tidal waves crashing and those sounds overcame his own sense of reality, simply drawn away and drowning in the sorrow of his own low self-esteem. It is ironic for the most arrogant yet talented Woozi could be the most insecure. 

Although, right beneath his fingertips the piano will sing him away from his own self-loathing, he could not comprehend the fact of how much he carried upon his shoulders. Surely, he was a light-weight yesterday, enjoying the presence of Mingyu and busying himself with the composition he had written. Distracted by the pen within his grasp, however today felt different as he grew close to the day of the dinner. Jihoon could ignore it like any other invitation, his own excuse reliable yet tiring to his step-mother's ears, it makes him run away from facing his father's judgement. The cold eyes of the older man, Jihoon knew he has the same exact eyes. 

A sharp gaze that could nearly cut anyone into pieces, however Jihoon knew he isn't cold as his own father, as people had thought. It was a set of armor to hide away the vulnerability and the disappointment he felt for one's self, as he knew he isn't worthy to be his father's son. He isn't successful in his father's eyes, and Jihoon could never understand. He had became a musician like his father, what else could he give? 

The device in his hand fell to the floor with a loud collision against the wooden floor and Jihoon had blinked back into reality. Fear clenching his heart in an aching grasp and he has dropped his head low to meet the sight of his phone on the floor, the screen brightly lit and showing the text messages between himself and his step-mother. He hasn't responded nor grant her invitation, and he knew he has no confidence to do so. He did not prepare himself and he knew ignorance will not bring him to the lie towards his own step-mother nor boyfriend. He can not lie, as though the fear of judgement tightened his own throat. 

It was odd to Jihoon. 

For being so straightforward, the share of his own weakness is difficult to express. Supposedly, Jihoon's own judgement to others brings him away from his own insecurities. The flaws he possesses, like any other person, Jihoon's pride is wounded by the many bullets taken by those self-destructing thoughts. However, he knew deeply those thoughts had only worsened when his mother had left him and his father had started to look down on him. Those two people making him understand what he is in their eyes, and Jihoon could never understand the love he will obtain from a mother or father. 

'I am a failure. 

I am a failure in their eyes.'

His posture slumped in his seat, his eyes vacantly meeting the piano keys. Late afternoon sun casting upon him in a faint color, he had thought the sun is starting to die away. Colors of his own world losing color gradually, he taken a familiarity with the world. His world where no artist's palette colored his world, nor retouched the many fading colors he view. Everything was simply falling apart as a old painting, or an old song becoming broken by each measure as it grows old. Soon enough, people will forget about the song.