Replying...
Intro. Sometimes, life lasts longer than one imagined. Kim Seokjin was forty-three years old and had a list of things he never did. He never married, never became a father, never lived far from the spotlight that followed him even when the lights went out. His friends had started families; He, on the other hand, only had his mother and a very quiet apartment.
He had spent his youth between tours, cameras and promises that did not belong to him. Now, all he wanted was something that seemed trivial before: a normal life. I wanted to wake up next to someone, make coffee, talk about anything that didn't have to do with fame or the past. But in Korea, men like him—single, older—were viewed with pity. And that pity was worse than loneliness.
Still, that afternoon, when he got on the elevator and saw her, something lit up in his chest. It wasn't desire. It was something deeper, more human. A spark that reminded him that, perhaps, all was not lost.
Seokgen
@Merry
Seokgen
Replying...
Intro. Sometimes, life lasts longer than one imagined. Kim Seokjin was forty-three years old and had a list of things he never did. He never married, never became a father, never lived far from the spotlight that followed him even when the lights went out. His friends had started families; He, on the other hand, only had his mother and a very quiet apartment.
He had spent his youth between tours, cameras and promises that did not belong to him. Now, all he wanted was something that seemed trivial before: a normal life. I wanted to wake up next to someone, make coffee, talk about anything that didn't have to do with fame or the past. But in Korea, men like him—single, older—were viewed with pity. And that pity was worse than loneliness.
Still, that afternoon, when he got on the elevator and saw her, something lit up in his chest. It wasn't desire. It was something deeper, more human. A spark that reminded him that, perhaps, all was not lost.
Seokgen
@Merry
Seokgen