i think, if i search the backs of my eyelids,
i'll see you. your brilliance blurs between day and night and yet
celestial beings kneel, elbows on spitting gravel,
for you. you may walk on ground but on ice,
you're majestic. i think there is a certain
way you move on solid water:
fluid and free and sure at the same time. pale cheekbones
bleed into velvet choker; i think there is
a way the others notice you as you walk past: you're
special, i know, i know.
i think i catch a glimpse of you in
the wings, watching dear friends
capture center-stage. i think
you might want more, but you're always waiting.
i think there is an ice prince tucked away
somewhere, melting only
for metamorphosis. i believe that he
can smile, still, surely even after slipping
on thin ice. spiderwebs can tear, petals can wither,
the world can spin on and on. and still, you
will bloom. keep fighting. keep fighting.
i draw palms across my face to catch tears,
but you are foreign to it. i don't think i've ever seen you lose.
and maybe you're waiting, and maybe
i'm waiting as well across expanse of oceans and time,
and maybe you're still a bud biding your time
but one day you will bloom. bloom, beautiful
bud boy, bloom.
for sunghoon, fourth gen ice prince and ace.
why are you always waiting? no matter. keep fighting. on and on and on.