blohyuk: tonight I can write the saddest lines.
tonight I can write the saddest lines.
pairing: tablo/hyukjae, mentions of tablo/hyejung
rating: g
genre: angst
a/n: so i'm researching pablo neruda, and he writes a lot of beautiful love poems. and so this was born. full poem here
Hyukjae has watched all of her films. Every single one of them. At least twice. It's kind of sad, in a way.
He can't help but wonder why all her roles are so weird. Twice she is crazy and once she barges into random houses, rescues random strangers and stalks a child. (Hyukjae suspects she's crazy in that role too; No, he's certain she's crazy in that role too)
(Does Tablo like crazy women?)
And once, in the role that propelled her to fame, she has sex with someone she really shouldn't be with, though she doesn't know it, will never know it. (Hyukjae fidgets and averts his eyes but it's no use because he's already picturing her with Tablo and oh God, the mental image is enough to kill him-)
She doesn't look like a pure Korean, maybe has some Eurasian blood flowing in her veins. Maybe some Indian blood.
(Does Tablo like foreigners? He grew up in a foreign country after all.)
She looks like a doll too, a doll straight out of a horror movie, with her big round eyes that stare and stare.
(Hyukjae remembers Tablo saying that he loves horror movies, adores psychological thrillers that fuck with minds and leave you questioning everything that you have)
It also unnerves him slightly how she looks so young when she actually isn't. How can she look like a teen when she's ten years past?
The baby is due this month. Hyukjae wakes up in the middle of the night, chest heaving and fingers gripping the sheets because he thought (imagined) the phone was ringing with joyous news of a birth. It never does and never will. Phone calls have ceased since Tablo was caught up in his role as a Father, busy with responsibilities that he doesn't have yet. Hyukjae has resorted to stalking Tablo's twitter ("please, Donghae, make an account?") and buttering up Heechul until his hyung agrees to casually drop a few hints.
How is he? How is she? How is it (It's a he. Hyukjae just knows it is)? Hyukjae needs to know because he feels like the child is his too, that he is part of this picture perfect family. He imagines it all in his head, except there is no she in his fantasy, only himself in an apron, juggling the baby in one hand and stirring the jjigae with another.
Ruffling through his drawer, he digs out his ipod and a piece of paper catches his eye. Messy scrawls, in a familiar handwriting.
("Read this," Tablo says as he thrusts the crumpled paper into Hyukjae's hands, eyes twinkling, cheeks flushed. "I used to study his poems in college.")
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.
To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.
What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.
This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.
The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.
I no longer love her, that’s certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.
Another’s. She will be another’s. Like my kisses before.
Her voice. Her bright body. Her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, that’s certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.
Hyukjae brushes his hair out of his eyes and laughs bitterly.
He started reading Pablo Neruda because of his name, but never has he made so much sense.
end.
i'm sorry. i'm just... burnt out by real life and i just needed an outlet :|
pairing: tablo/hyukjae, mentions of tablo/hyejung
rating: g
genre: angst
a/n: so i'm researching pablo neruda, and he writes a lot of beautiful love poems. and so this was born. full poem here
Hyukjae has watched all of her films. Every single one of them. At least twice. It's kind of sad, in a way.
He can't help but wonder why all her roles are so weird. Twice she is crazy and once she barges into random houses, rescues random strangers and stalks a child. (Hyukjae suspects she's crazy in that role too; No, he's certain she's crazy in that role too)
(Does Tablo like crazy women?)
And once, in the role that propelled her to fame, she has sex with someone she really shouldn't be with, though she doesn't know it, will never know it. (Hyukjae fidgets and averts his eyes but it's no use because he's already picturing her with Tablo and oh God, the mental image is enough to kill him-)
She doesn't look like a pure Korean, maybe has some Eurasian blood flowing in her veins. Maybe some Indian blood.
(Does Tablo like foreigners? He grew up in a foreign country after all.)
She looks like a doll too, a doll straight out of a horror movie, with her big round eyes that stare and stare.
(Hyukjae remembers Tablo saying that he loves horror movies, adores psychological thrillers that fuck with minds and leave you questioning everything that you have)
It also unnerves him slightly how she looks so young when she actually isn't. How can she look like a teen when she's ten years past?
The baby is due this month. Hyukjae wakes up in the middle of the night, chest heaving and fingers gripping the sheets because he thought (imagined) the phone was ringing with joyous news of a birth. It never does and never will. Phone calls have ceased since Tablo was caught up in his role as a Father, busy with responsibilities that he doesn't have yet. Hyukjae has resorted to stalking Tablo's twitter ("please, Donghae, make an account?") and buttering up Heechul until his hyung agrees to casually drop a few hints.
How is he? How is she? How is it (It's a he. Hyukjae just knows it is)? Hyukjae needs to know because he feels like the child is his too, that he is part of this picture perfect family. He imagines it all in his head, except there is no she in his fantasy, only himself in an apron, juggling the baby in one hand and stirring the jjigae with another.
Ruffling through his drawer, he digs out his ipod and a piece of paper catches his eye. Messy scrawls, in a familiar handwriting.
("Read this," Tablo says as he thrusts the crumpled paper into Hyukjae's hands, eyes twinkling, cheeks flushed. "I used to study his poems in college.")
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.
To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.
What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.
This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.
The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.
I no longer love her, that’s certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.
Another’s. She will be another’s. Like my kisses before.
Her voice. Her bright body. Her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, that’s certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.
Hyukjae brushes his hair out of his eyes and laughs bitterly.
He started reading Pablo Neruda because of his name, but never has he made so much sense.
end.
i'm sorry. i'm just... burnt out by real life and i just needed an outlet :|