#the only verification taejin will ever get

[404fmdtaejin]

lyrical verification ; that’s okay

summary: coming back from the retreat, a man’s forced to rethink how he’s lived his past twelve years after speaking with his mother. a moment of reflection and solitary thoughts confining him to face how to climb up from the grave he’s dug. warnings: none wc: 1171 (not including lyrics)

“you’ve done well, my son.” her words don’t crease at the edges, no. it’s like a perfectly flattened and unscathed piece of blank paper — words sheathed with her honesty. “i’m proud of who you are, and in an odd way — i’m glad you never intended to take over the family business.” and a laugh muffles its way, hazy and static, through the phone.

“thanks.” but it’s not an eulogy to his life for his life has only become the crumbling remains of getting by — an easy pass that free floats through each obstacle that’s thrown in his path. his legs step over easily, arms grabbing each item he desires, and he’s never had a taste of what it means to suffer.

“i have to go, i have a meeting with an american business associate. i’ll talk to you later, i love you my son.” 

and the phone call ends as fast as it began. quick and swift with scattered words.

a glass of resin-stained whisky balances between his fingers, minute waves swinging back and forth with the flick of his wrist, and all he has in front of him is the same blank screen that masks itself as a sheer - you’ve done well.

another sip that stings his throat raw, and he finds the notes of his phone open — empty and mocking with each blink of the screen.

he thinks of the first time the youth of year nineteen brought — a fresh face in a relentless industry, and he vowed to only seek the top. trespassing each boundaries, piercing his heels in those deemed vulnerable. each tear plucked and collected, added to the elixir he called ‘unheralded fame.’

it comes like a rollercoaster of emotions — the cliche of up and down, swerving viciously. happy highs and sad lows — everything in between as he raises his arms in the air, uncontrollably flinging around with each jerk. twelve years and he stands high and mighty, yet. many nights he’d find solace in the covers of his bed, tears that couldn’t become a physical presence but more akin to a mental bereavement reminding him of the concept of feeling distanced from the fame that breached higher by the moment. 

How far have I come now I ran, only looking forward Now I’m scared to look back The words I've postponed

the words come easy with each movement of his swift fingers across the screen, and like time passes, he’s left with the rumination of the fragments of his past. feelings of emptiness, losing the youth that was traded away for the applaud of a roaring crowd and gleaming chants of the fans, and shimmied away by set of the moon. he sent each one on a silver platter, pecked away with the mangled tinges of what he was expected to be. 

was he destined to be great? or was he destined to lose it all? he’s balancing a finely lined limbo, inside a place of primed expectations and fervent desires to pluck himself apart from the path paved in diamonds for him. time passes, and he remembers fragments of each memory — hazy happiness and gruesome loneliness. chest numb and pulled inside out. the sun rises and the sun sets, and it’s the end of another day — merging together monotony that canvases throughout twelve long years.

Like time passes, inside of me Times when I'm happy, days where I cried so much my chest went numb Like the sun that rises and sets every day And the moon, I send them away naturally

does he know who kim taejin is? the formative years of the early twenties — the freedom to explore, make the rash decisions that pummels itself into self-disparities. yet, all he’s left with is what he’s expected to feel given a time and place like a premeditated algorithm in which the answer bides itself written in the question. and he’s given himself up, everything he entails to hide any trace of weakness left inside the troubled heart he carries.

it’s easy to wear a mask, polished up a frame that’s meant to present in front of a crowd of bystanders who only buy the physical locks of transient touches. and suddenly, he loses his touch of being a human who makes mistakes and stumbles through a darkness, only possessing a shadow from the spotlight that shines down on him.

I feel like I'm losing myself in the Many emotions that have gone by From some point, I became used to The rules I follow to hide my heart

but what he wants to say becomes something different. he wants to present forth a human in every aspect. a man who cries, a man who laughs. a man who garners all emotions, and doesn’t situate into a complacency of a silhouette nor a puppet pulled into place by the strings on his back. pain. loneliness. happiness. laughter. it’s a conglomeration of failed expectations shifting the spotlight away from the role he fills — something less daunting, and more human. maybe, what he wants is to follow his heart, a cliche again, and stop concealing the scuffs of his presence.

because he’s a man who makes mistakes, a man who previously seethed terror from every carcass that he viewed. now, he realizes it’s only become a mask to add an extra layer of protection for when he falls off the high ground he stands — lonely and unbalanced.

Sometimes I cry  Sometimes I laugh I have expectations And I go through pain  I get butterflies once again And become dull Following my heart, the way that I am

and when he writes the rest of the words, he falters at the last sentence. the way i am — the way he was, was that really a notion of realism? he asks himself if the faltering child born with a golden spoon in his mouth was really a culmination of any taste of realism. because in reality, it phases itself to be a ploy, constantly on the edge of apprehension and skepticism — a sham. 

and when he turns around to face the recoil of his decisions, taejin realizes he’s always been in the same place — alone. 

yet, is there a complete ablation of an instance to change? no. maybe. there’s another vow to extend an open arm and soothe the wounds he’s etched onto others. a tyrant at best, giving into each weakness of belittling insecurities. and maybe, actually. he accepts for the first time, it’s okay to be okay — there’s no necessity to rush to be the best. no reason to jump ahead, spreading yourself thin to jump upon those embedded in the separate warfares of their own battles. because at the end of the day, everyone was a soldier already embittered by years of flinging ammunition in the destruction called life.

Like the countless stars I’m always in the same place I'll shine on you with all the light I have So don't hide yourself, will you show me you? Be comfortable with the way you are That's right, it's okay to be okay

he sees his reflection in the glass, a tilted chin and an empty gaze with relaxed brows that pierce straight through — the first moment of face to face honesty. a lift of a brow, and an awkward smile, he does everything to shift. yet, it continues to become a painted caricature of awkwardness, and for the first time, seeing his own reflection becomes an arduous task — a diverted gaze to the corner of his apartment, he can’t see himself anymore. so, he continues on with the open notes on his phone, logging in the moments of rarity that impeach his semblance tonight.

Today, for the first time I face my honest heart Even looking in the mirror is hard Why is this facial expression so awkward?

it’s okay, he tells himself. maybe it’s okay to allow the loneliness to linger, or the awkward tension of unsheathing an image of the unrecognizable person you’ve become. it’s okay to observe because ten minutes of unshakable uneasiness passes in the course of years. becoming raw. becoming vulnerable — a stepping stone into the age old trope of coming-of-age. this passes, and it transfigures itself into something greater — a lesson to learn. it’s okay to just be okay.

The loneliness that's stayed hidden inside Let it linger for a little Just look at it If the soft breeze blows Open your heart, the day will pass It's just okay to be okay

greatness or being above the raging waters of a storm was just wishful thinking. the fear of being okay, decent. sub-par average becomes less unnerving with each word of honesty typed away. and he recognizes, thirty one years into his life, that being okay with being okay is the apex of letting go and merging into the uphill rise of something promising.