i. Artists paint their lovers in shades of the past, baroque golds running through the veins of a Venus too dusty for the digital. maybe their muses are worthy of museums, but you are not so. I will not do you the disservice of dipping my brush into Da Vinci, or inking my pen with Dante, for the words behind your lips are anything but ancient.
ii. “Good things take time,’ droned softly into our skin, overlaid with the hum of waterfalls carving out canyons yet to be, rain filling oceans unseen. Do they have to? Because you are not soft. You are not slow. You are fast food in the twilight hours, and neon lights lighting the way home, a way we’ll never go. This love is a force of nature, but it was never a mountain. It was a firestorm.
iii. Authenticity was the ultimate, was it not? We all search for something real, something old, something ours, conflating the timeless with the eternal. But why settle for relics, when reality crushes these antiques under leaded boots? Lithium batteries do not last like ichor, and nobody reads the newspaper at an altar, but humans are paper thin, and not meant to last, so why love the things that will?
sighs, tossing the motel towel somewhere onto the bed before pulling on a
t-shirt. He wrinkles his nose; it smells musty, like cheap soap, the off-brand
kind of fabric softener and detergent. It’s no different from all the other
countless motels he’s stayed at in the following months since he was forced to
go into hiding, and he’s not really happy about it.
He scowls. Getting framed by his
co-worker was probably the last thing he was expecting–which says a lot,
considering he’s a spy, for chrissake–but this unexpected turn of events
is and has been his reality for days now. He checks the dusty digital clock
that sits on the dresser. Hoseok should be here by now. They’d agreed to meet
up today, just to touch base and groan about how hard life is.
Suddenly, the doorknob rattles
opens; Taehyung has his gun out and is aiming for the door, finger already on
the trigger, in a heartbeat. The intruder steps into the room, hands up in the
air. “Don’t shoot,” he warns.