I would appreciate it if readers could just enjoy it as an appreciation.โป
_And then September came without you
The muggy weather, the sweat running down my spine, the damp, stuffy air,
And you standing before that season.
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I walked through the mist rising from the ground. My breath was suffocating.
The hot air and the heat clinging to my exposed arms. The humid weather and dizzying sunlight, as if the rainy season was about to begin.
Now that I think about it, summer has always been a season of beauty.
When I actually experienced it, I didn't have any good memories, but in the end, what I remember were the good things.
It's just memories.
You were summer to me.
So it remained as summer. Now it's too far to go back.
Talented people come in like a flood every year, and those who just do it
Struggling to get a foothold in the art world, where people make up the sea.
The thing that bothered me the most was the title of genius attached to someone's name.
That title was always attached to the kid who went to the same school as me.
" "Drawing memories that cannot be remembered" "The painter of the century born in Korea"
"The peak of a hot summer day is instantly depicted before my eyes"
"High school student with summer in his eyes, painter Jeon Jeong-guk"
Yes, the drawings of that child who went to see them with curiosity, saying, "If you're good, let's see how good the drawings are," were so perfect that no words could describe them.
I was curious about how he could paint such pictures even though we were in the same art world, and why such a genius was attending the same school as me.
I was saddened by the thought of why it was casting a shadow right in front of me.
It seemed like I was simply bending and conforming to the unchangeable laws of nature.
The June sky was clear, the beginning of summer was refreshing, but I wasn't like that.
I, who see you every day in the same studio, tossed and turned in an endless tropical night.
Papers fluttering in the irregular wind and making a rustling sound
Sketch, the sound of water sloshing in a bottle containing a brush,
You sitting across from me.
How did you get what I longed for, when you already had them, the waves that seemed ready to crash at any moment, the sunlight streaming through the leaves?
How on earth was this landscape, which feels both leisurely and intense, created?
Yes, I envied all of that, I longed for it, and yet, it crumbled in vain. The sadness that would surge up in my chest, even when I abruptly averted my gaze from yours, felt like a burning fire within me. The traces of you I saw as I walked down the street made me childish.
"My lady, it's not because you're lacking. You too have your own style and color. Someday, a season will come when you will recognize that."
He held my hand, which was stained with red, brown, and yellow, and he was so affectionate.
Unfortunately, the words of the teacher who supported my future were not properly conveyed at that time.
It didn't help me, and at that time I just couldn't stay anywhere
I felt like I was falling to the ground like a leaf.
Just, blown by the wind, very slowly. Packed as if leisurely.
And so July came. I was still thrown into the middle of an endless summer.
You were struggling, and people still abstracted your shining summer.
Even in the midst of all that, was the look in your eyes that touched me for a moment and then disappeared just pity? I was always like that. Sometimes, I felt your traces near me.
Like a moth reacting violently. Yes, it seems to have been that hot only then.
It gets hot, and the remaining time is spent unable to escape the residual heat.
And then July 23rd. The day I poured my all into the work I'd created, it was spectacularly rejected at the competition. Naturally, it was your work that won the grand prize.
In your work, which particularly favors the use of blue and green,
The day I saw a work filled with the same red color as me.
At that time, my insides were probably torn to pieces.
Why is it that just one color overlaps so sensitively? If you look at it that way,
It's not at all strange, but it's been a while since I've given up on it.
A pillar that had been there before had been so incompetently shattered and shattered by someone's hands. My heart, already crushed and broken countless times, trembled.
What followed me when I ran away and couldn't stay there any longer was, surprisingly,
It was you,
Why did you follow me? My insides are already torn to shreds, what are you talking about?
Hold me to see more of my appearance. Do you have something to say to me? What the hell?
You should know better than anyone that comfort is of no use.
It was a moment when the resentment I'd thought I'd managed well burst out like a flood. What stopped me from going farther and farther was your hand, a hand I'd never touched before. And now that I'd felt the warmth of your hand against my wrist, I knew we'd crossed a river of no return.
"Why are you following me? Why, did you think my painting was not good enough?"
"You've given me the title of genius, so now everyone looks down on you?"
" .......... "
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The suffocatingly hot weather, tears streaming down my cheeks, my breath intertwining irregularly, and you standing facing me.
So you are summer to me.
Other people remember summer as a glorified memory, with fragmentary memories.
The bright sunlight streaming through the leaves and the refreshing sound of waves.
The clarity of a summer day, the excitement of that day. It's all a work of art you created.
When I actually experience summer, I quickly melt away under the weight of the season.
I was just trying to escape. The dampness and humidity of that day. My ears felt like they were going to burst.
Cicadas that were crying, sticky skin, and flushed cheeks.
I was the only one who felt the suffocating heat.
After pouring out all the words I had never been able to say, the silence that followed was awkward.
Yes, I made a mistake. It must have taken a lot of effort on your part to paint that picture, but I was only too eager to belittle you from my perspective.
Even though I lost my temper for a moment in this hot weather and said something I felt sorry for,
There was no change in your face as you looked at me.
No, ....on the contrary, he seemed to be snickering.
A comfortable smile as if everything had been put down.
"I'm sorry. I was too hasty."
" ........... "
"But I really wanted to tell you this."
"........That was my last drawing."
" ......... "
" .....what..? "
And as if it were a lie, from the next day onwards the child did not come to the art room.
Why on earth? Wasn't this the moment your season was at its peak?
The world's attention was focused on you for suddenly leaving the art world, but that too was fleeting, and soon people were abuzz with anticipation for the return of a genius.
It seemed like I was the only one who felt a splitting headache at the sudden change in people's attitudes, just accepting it as a given.
I still drew in the art room where the child didn't come out.
Now, I look at the stale air and the gradually accelerating sunset through the window that is not open.
I just drew my picture. The image of you that I occasionally see at school
He gave me a strange feeling, but... we weren't close enough to go up to him and ask how he was doing, so I only briefly acknowledged his presence.
And on August 7th, my work was accepted into a contest for the first time.
It was definitely something I should be happy about... but why am I not happy?
It just felt like I was following in the footsteps of that child who had disappeared.
I couldn't grasp the flow of the situation. I still...
I couldn't apologize to that child for what I said to him back then.
August 23rd, the day my work, which had been so disappointingly rejected just a month ago for being awkward, out of place, and out of place, won the grand prize.
Now people abstracted me, not him, and they praised and flaunted the works I had created. ...Why...? I was certainly happy, but I wasn't.
I felt like I was alone in a different world.
Now the world is on the verge of September, and a slightly cold wind is blowing, drying the sweat that has clung to me so tightly. I vaguely remember hearing that your birthday is in September.
Now I go to the art room to ask about your whereabouts, even though I can't see you at school.
When I heard that, the teacher smiled brightly, a smile he had never shown me before, and spoke to me.
"My lady, your season has finally come! Now all you have to do is bear fruit to your heart's content. Your hard work has now paid off. Congratulations and enjoy yourself to the fullest."
" ....Thank you. But teacher... ........
Why haven't I seen Jeon Jungkook lately...?
"Huh? Why is he suddenly like that?"
"... Ah, .. It's September now.. I think I heard somewhere that his birthday was in September... But we were still together, right?"
"My lady, why are you so fond of someone who has already lost his way?
And he's not at our school anymore. He'll be here a little while after the July competition.
"I heard he transferred schools."
" yes...? "
"His season has already passed. He's already gone, and who in the world would want to miss him now?
Do you miss me? You should stop worrying about it now. You should prepare for the next competition. "
I was stunned, as if I'd been hit in the back of the head. It was only natural, I thought.
That two seasons cannot exist at the same time in the world.
When another season comes, the previous season disappears like that.
That was the natural order of things.
And September without you is so empty.
Ah, now that I look at it, all of your works have summer in them.
You didn't draw summer, you were summer.
You just transferred one of your pieces into the painting.
...You must have known that after summer, fall would come. And you must have known that I was that fall.
I realized it too late, and now I burst into tears, searching for the pieces of you that I couldn't find anywhere else.
The leaves that used to shine so smoothly in the sunlight have now turned yellow and are falling like corn at my feet.
I am the one who erases your traces.
All the truths I realized were so painful that tears suddenly flowed down my face.
Dew formed on the white paper.
September 8th. Some dew is so heavy that it bends the grass.
Any tears are too heavy to bear and will break me.
It was the beginning of autumn.
The true beginning of autumn comes because of your absence.
Now I will fill the increasingly lonely canvas with the emptiness of losing you. Dropping your traces, erasing your memories.
Of course, I, too, will be forgotten someday when winter comes.
If we're forgotten together, maybe we can become a little closer.
Can I dip my feet in your summer?
If that day ever comes, will you still be my summer?
_September 23rd, Why did such a genius come out only now!
Chuyeoju, a painter who draws autumn from the tip of her brush.
On October 8th, dew fell on her paintings as well. She won the grand prize at the contest for the third time in a row.
A rising artist who's garnering attention in the art world! What's next?
October 23rd, the peak of autumn foliage! Painter Chu Yeo-ju returns with a new style.
What are her limits!
_November 7th, Chuyeoju suddenly disappeared?
Who else will be the artist to fill her void?
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_And then September came without you. [fin]