There must be something his body is trying to communicate to him; that’s what the body always does. He wants to be finite-less, infinite-full and everything in the in between without the limitations of physics and anatomy. And yet he runs faster than his legs can carry him, the strain in his muscles a clear dialogue.
He doesn’t listen.
(He was made for something bitter.)
The speed is never enough; fast, but never fast enough to possibly catch up to the light. He grows obsessed with the idea and all of a sudden it is a chase, perpetual and never-ending, with his limbs numb by the end of it. His body isn’t as fast as the ambition, and this is where it breaks.
The mind calls the body to drag itself home, yet each time, his feet pace elsewhere. He finds himself at Kyungsoo’s door after each run, half-beat and half-gone of everything that makes of him. And each time, Kyungsoo lets him in, seats him down and begins to talk. Kyungsoo always speaks in the language of the body, and he does it enough.
“Kyungsoo,” His eyes stray elsewhere; anywhere but the other’s eyes. “Thank you.”
Kyungsoo comes over him, places a hand -- and it’s like his palms are speaking to him, conversing to the body: translating to the heart.
(You were made for something better.)
@florichor
