Wound is Yours, Why Does It Make Me Bleed | Taekook FF

3

The fragrance of firewood, lavender oil and wet sand from the rain lingered all over the wooden living room consisting of two small couches placed at a small distance from each other. The coffee table covered with the white cloth at a certain angle was even smaller, as if specifically designed to fit the little space between the couches.

The rain was still going on, the sound of raindrops falling over the roof of wooden house echoing in the silence that engulfed the house. The silence seemed to drape itself over the house, embracing it while peppering kisses of serenity and mumbling words that translated the loneliness of the owner.

Kim Taehyung.

The warm blanket covering his legs upto his waist did nothing to prevent him of the cold air that came from the windows, but he didn't seem to mind it. In fact, the love for the rain was too much to have him leave the spot and find something more warmer for himself. He was going to catch cold, but not like it would be the first time he was going to find himself sick.

It was usual. Everything was a part of this ' usual routine '. His life was usual, his life was a routine that he repeated again and again never stopping on this endless circle.

Curling his toes, he breathed in the scent of lavender engulfing his room, as the fragrance of all the flowers outside in his small garden mingled with the calming scents kissing every corner of his little home, and at the end landed themsevles over the surface of his soul, letting him feel the smells right in his cores.

Poem. I could write a poem.

Being a writer, words stayed waiting to be written right at the top of his head. Since the age of fifteen when he had first been the spectator of sunset, his last beautiful sunset with his older brother he always felt himself too open to the world. Like, there was no flesh, no locks, no doors, no guards, nothing present up at his surface that protected him from the brutal attacks of world over his soul.

He felt open, exposed and extremely vulnerable. People liked to call it ART what he wrote, what his soul spoke up and what his hands always put over the keyboard of his laptop or over his paper. People called it art, some even tended to call it god gifted talent, but they didn't know it was earned.

Art is always earned.

And, he earned that from his life.

His tears, his bruised soul and his shattered heart earned that from life.

The little sound of fire burning the wood felt like an impeccable background sound that only carried itself following the rhythm of the rain drops. The mug of hot chocolate in his hand was then placed carefully over the wooden floor, the blanket sliding off of his legs as he got off the couch in his bedroom to grab a fine sheet of paper and a pen placed nearby.

The pages were scattered all over the house, the living room, the kitchen even the restroom. No place of his house was free of it because ideas always hit him at weird times: the shower, preparing meal, in the middle of the night or sometimes when he went out for a walk by himself.

It was tiring, but when the resulting poem or plot matched his sky high expectations about himself, he always took that exhaustion as a blessing. It was the affirmation of what he had given or lost to bring out something like that from inside him.

Taking the same seat again, Taehyung sighed under his breath as the silence for the nth time in the past month took it's brutal attack on him. Silence was his companion, his one and only lover, as what he liked to call it. Where silence was his lover, he liked to call loneliness his one and only best friend.