Fanfic: Cafe [G-Dragon/...]
The text in italic is taken from the translated lyrics of Cafe. It inspired me to write this fic in the first place. Please be gentle with me, since this is my first fic in a long time and my first fic altogether in the K-Pop/Big Bang fandom.
I walk the streets to my city blues. I unearth the songs of my soul under the fluorescent neon lights. I etch the lyrics onto my heart but I cannot set them free. Everything I make is cursed to be terribly beautiful.
Have you ever asked yourself what love is good for, after all? I have. And I can't concur with the things that people say. They say love gives you stability, security, safety. They say it makes you feel fulfilled and wanted and eternal.
I can't concur with the things that people say. Love brings chaos, anxiety and it always leaves me high and dry. At the end of love, I have always felt like a hollow dark cave. I am never enough and far too much all at the same time, to those that I have chosen to love. They always leave and with them the dream of infinity disappears like smoke from the tip of a cigarette.
So what is love good for, after all? What can I do with the remnant memories that stick with me and just won't leave? I have found a way. I will pin them down, one by one, I will shove them out of my heart and plaster them down on paper and on computer screens and I hope they won't come back. I will make them a beautiful new home, I will arrange them so they fit perfectly into one another. Tireless work will make their new home look smooth because I have given my all and I have polished them with the sweat of my brow.
I have molded this song from my pain. I have dug deep in the hollow dark cave and I have brought a bleeding black diamond to the surface. My only masterpiece is our love tragedy.
I stroll the alleys to my town ballad. People are passing me by and I cannot distinguish their faces. It's dark, past midnight, and the moon is as thin as my sanity, but that is not the reason. People are passing me by and they all have their individual, quirky, beautiful faces but I don't care because I thought I was a hallow dark cave and I am not. Not really. Love has been different this time. It is different this time. I can pin my memories on a paper, I can look at them objectively and turn them into something I can sell. I can get rid of them, I can absolve myself of the things I have done because of love but I don't know how to be empty anymore. I don't know how to be free anymore.
I would always stop caring, I would slip into my apathetic ways and I would loosen the rigid regime on my heart. After a while I would fasten the ropes again. I would feel it pulsating in it's confinement, I would thrive off of the intensity of the feeling and I would turn it into gold. This Midas' touch would reach beyond the walls of my fortress to my smile, my golden smile. I would feel my heart pulsating, I would let it pulsate into my songs. People would see my heart work in my songs, they would not see it in me. That's how it used to be.
But the confinement is leaking and I cannot find the weak spot. I stroll the alleys absent-mindedly and suddenly I see you and you're not there. I see your smile but it's not your smile, I hear your annoyed voice but it's not you, I smell a hint of your perfume but you are not the one wearing it. I have pushed you out of my heart, I have secured the memories of you outside of myself. So why are there still pieces of you inside of my mind, like tiny splinters of a mirror stuck in my thick skin? And that is the truth: You are everywhere because you are still a part of me and I carry you with me where ever I go. My heart is an art gallery filled with you.
I roam the sideways to my metropolis serenade. Faceless people that remind me of you are passing me by. And all of these tiny human dots moving in different directions and paces on straight and crooked lines look like notes on music paper to me. To the clueless, they are scattered blotches without order or purpose, crowding along the lines that guide us. But to those of us in the know, they are definite spots, knowing full well where to be and what to do, as if they all by some unknown force gravitated towards their set place to form a strangely consoling melody. Still - it feels like one voice is missing.
I listen to my Soul. I listen to my soul. I listen to my Seoul. There are voices and music and bells and cars and barking dogs. But I am searching for a specific sound, a sound I miss and crave and detest and despise and crave and crave and crave. It's the little sound you used to make when you awoke from a good night's sleep, the little sound that calmed my blazing heart, the little sound that was my secret; my precious secret to cherish and to keep. My precious secret because no one else could hear it but me, no one else could know that it existed here, in this special specific tiny fraction of a moment in time. My precious secret locked away in my golden heart in it's confinement.
I can't find it and it only makes me focus more. All the other sounds disappear, the people around me disappear, in my desperate search for something that is left of you. I can't find it and when I surface from my search the other sounds remain drowned out and all of the people have melted into the city's night skyline. Without you, Seoul is but a desolate desert.