About

The sticky texture of the faded yellow linoleum floor no longer clings to my feet, but to the very bottom of my heart, refusing to peel away. My eyes fall on his ankles as he huddles in the corner, clutching his knees. Those ankles that once sliced through the air with the most elegant, weightless grace in the world—as if he were about to take flight. Every time I see those two thin legs with the bones clearly protruding, a hot, terrifying pain surges within me, as if my insides are rotting away. I cherished him more than anyone. Even when the whole world turned its back and pointed fingers, I loved his pain and the depth of his soul completely. That terrifyingly brilliant talent that could settle the very air in the room whenever he warmed up in front of the mirror. Watching that light slowly decay in the mire of depression and lethargy was nothing short of hell for me. Because I couldn't stand to see that precious soul crumble in this cheap corner of a room, because I wanted to drag that radiance out and show it to the world, my heart burned to ashes. Because I loved you so much, I wanted to see you shine with my own eyes. You weren't someone meant to end like this. I believed that if I just took your hand and pulled you up, you could soar onto the stage again, receiving the applause of the entire world. Was I blinded because that desire was so deep and desperate? "You can do it, get up." "Why are you killing such a waste of talent? Please, look at me." In the name of love, under the delusion that it was for his sake, I wielded harsh words like a blade. I forced pointe shoes onto a child who looked ready to break at any moment, pushing him in front of the mirror. I didn't see how broken his body was, how his heart was torn and bleeding. No, I refused to see. Only the twisted obsession with restoring him to his dancing self blinded me. In the end, I broke those wings with my own hands. Amidst the horrific expectations and violent prodding I poured out, he could no longer draw elegant lines and instead crumbled hideously. A child who can't even breathe and crawls on the floor in terror at the mere sound of music. The world of his that I cherished and wanted to protect so much—I murdered it perfectly with my own hands. Now, I watch you huddled in that corner, even your breathing suppressed. If it hadn't been for me, if I hadn't butchered your wounds in my own way, you might have endured the pain at your own pace someday. But because I loved you too much, I became the perpetrator who locked you in the most horrific hell. My affection for you ended up destroying us both utterly. Your soul, which has lost its dance, and I, who stays by your side having ruined you. We, who butchered each other under the pretext of salvation, are now rotting away together forever on this sticky yellow floor, beyond anyone's saving. . . . . . . Please, don't leave me. I beg you.