The Last Piece of Me {HyunLix}

The Art of Letting Go.

Hyunjin.

I woke up at my desk with massive creases and paper marks down the side of my face. I'd left Felix at the door without so much as an apology for being so rude the night before, and though I felt horrible about it, I knew it was the best thing for the both of us if I just kept to myself. Regardless, I'd sat in the darkness of the closed studio for a long time afterward, staring at the canvas leaning up against my desk, wondering how I could paint on it without thinking about him.

He'd been sitting just an arm's length away from me with the most giddy look on his face, and I'd been trying to catch a few small, inconspicuous glances his way when he wasn't ogling, but there were only very few windows for that. His hair was nearly a crisp white, but the sun caught it with ease and made certain strands glitter magically; yellow-ish and glowing. Now that I'd seen him properly, he looked almost exactly like the stranger in all of my paintings. His nose was the same; pointed and slightly blushed over; his eyes stuck on the person looking at him, almost as if he was seeing the secrets of the universe in the other person's face.

He had freckles.

That was what I found most beautiful about Felix. Not his soft spokenness or the way he always looked on the verge of breaking into tears, or the way he sat or smiled or sighed. It was those freckles. I swore they twinkled, like stars all over his face; I hated that I wasn't allowed to stare at them shamelessly. Otherwise I would have. But I couldn't.

I thanked him for walking me back and drank his face into my mind. The freckles and the glow of the sunset in his heavy eyes, and the droop of his mouth as I told him I was going inside. I couldn't explain why my heart was hammering my ribcage in words, as it usually was for me with most awful things, but I dreaded seeing him walk away first, so I turned and hid behind the doors. I didn't want to forget his freckles; but I hoped to god that I'd never see Felix again. After that I just sat on the floor under my desk for a long time, with my knees to my chest and my eyes closed, trying not to cry. It was always hard to keep people away from me, but somehow, this miserable feeling in my gut was lingering more than usual. I really thought I'd mastered the art of letting go, but it seemed to me that it was only getting harder to be alone as the time neared for me to leave Seoul.

I sighed and rubbed my eyes to see Jisung sitting at his desk in front of me. He was sculpting some sort of face out of clay, and when my eyes focused I realised he was sculpting a horrifically accurate erma of Leeknow. I made a face and pried my eyes away from it. Too much lovey-dovey first thing in the morning. My sketchbook was still in my bag next to the massive canvas up against my desk; I leaned to snatch it off the floor. Might as well at least try to think of something for this exhibition.

***

"Sleep here again last night?" Jisung's voice drew my attention away from the blank page in my book I hadn't touched in an hour. I looked up from my trance of idealess thoughts through heavy eyelids and blew out a sigh.

"You need to stop doing that. You'll develop scoliosis or something." He said, walking over to the sink at the other corner of the room to wash the clay off his hands.

I nodded, "I can't."

"Why not?"

I didn't answer that; I didn't feel like telling Jisung about how suffocating it was to be alone in my apartment. I'd always enjoyed my own company, but these days it was getting difficult not to be desperate for someone else's companionship. If I told Jisung about my life, opened up about my problems, he'd try to help me and then my efforts would have been futile. I just shrugged and began sketching mindlessly on my page.

"I get it," he said, replying to my silence, "I like it here too... maybe I'll get good at painting as you are if I just live and breathe here."

"You don't want my life, Jisung," I said, thinking aloud, "it's not living; it's simply existing."