Personal Message
Description
kim namjoon
silenced walls and loud shapes.
❝ maybe the world was drawn by the hands of god, and maybe this god had given some of this talent to him, and maybe this talent was meant to be appreciate, and maybe.... ❞
ooc
please read!
Hello there peeps! Nice to meet ya'all. I just have to settle a few ooc facts down. I'm extremely busy ooc, with work and university so my time online depends heavily on my schedule during the week. I am not one who can reply quickly, im slow and i take my time so if you can not really handle that, I might not be the best person to plot with. That aside, i prefer to tell when im bored with a plot and i expect you to do the same so we can either change the plot or just drop it to stop wasting each other's time. When im talking in the chatroom and not replying, im on phone and i never reply on phone, so i'm not ignoring you but if you think i had missed your reply, leave me a note, dont poke me please ;; thank you guys, i hope ya'all enjoy your time here <3
Art walked in the walls of Rome, yet his hand held the power of life, to give those little creatures a smile, or a permission to fly. Yet he watched, watched the statues be there in their , solid glory, no movement to ever be upon them as their faith has been written like that. He was to paint new, not redraw the old history.
12
september
virgo
pediatrician
☰
divine
☰
26 years old
☰
single
☰
lost
☰
" paper heart "
►
my only one
+
❝ Butterflies break their wings... ❞
Kim Namjoon was the first child of the kim family, made accidentally on their romantic anniversary night, but he definitely was a not a regret. He was their bundle of joy, the first son whose facial expression was so much alike his father's that it made their mother jealous enough to have the second child, and thanks god the second one looked like their mother or he was sure he would have to tolerate 20 more babies till she would have gotten what she wanted.
Magic swirled around his life, he was born in the hands of sparkles and swirled around up in the air, enough to have him push science away and believe in unreal. And so his magic grew slowly, in the arms of small paintings. At the age of 6, his first blue butterfly drawn in wall with a piece of chalk started dancing in air and his mother was nothing but amused by the sudden display.
At the age of ten, The first cat he drew became raw reality as it slipped out from the frames of his paper, curling up on his lap and purring. He had drawn a nice cat, and gray, was indeed the nicest cat he ever gotten.
At the age of 16, His mother had to scold him for thinking that painting a dragon in his room was a good idea. The cost of rebuilding that part of the house was enough to have him wince from the thought.
At the age of 20, he witnessed his mother's death, saw the pitiful goodbye in the man's eyes as he pulled his brother against his chest and ran out of the house, not looking behind him and clinging to the only thing he knew would be left of what they once called 'family'. He drove away and watched the bright orange flames engulf everything he knew of love, every memory. Tears streamed down his face, but there was no where to return to, there was only a brother's hand to hold and a future to walk into, with too many why's that never cured his bleeding wounds.
he stopped. It was at the age where he stopped painting anything. The old blue butterfly still dared to slip out from the corners of his papers, swirling around his head, desperate for attention. The gray cat peeks out of the closet before returning to its own home paper. It had been six years since he allowed his hand to draw, since he allowed anything to come to life.
perhaps if he was stronger, he could saved them, perhaps blaming himself would get him no where, but the feeling grips he throat and suffocates him, leaving an after taste too bitter for him to enjoy.
But then, every morning he awakens to go to work, His brother's voice rings in his ears. 'hyung, you should start drawing again' and then comes the desperate look on his face, one that asks yet demands, and its those days where he allows his gray cat to come out with consideration of once more drawing. Its those days where he wants to draw on everything and watch them come to life, yet he still gets dressed and and passes by the blackboard hung on his apartment's wall, going to hospital once more- perhaps the second thing that fascinated him enough to refuse art for so long.
Kim Namjoon was the first child of the kim family, made accidentally on their romantic anniversary night, but he definitely was a not a regret. He was their bundle of joy, the first son whose facial expression was so much alike his father's that it made their mother jealous enough to have the second child, and thanks god the second one looked like their mother or he was sure he would have to tolerate 20 more babies till she would have gotten what she wanted.
Magic swirled around his life, he was born in the hands of sparkles and swirled around up in the air, enough to have him push science away and believe in unreal. And so his magic grew slowly, in the arms of small paintings. At the age of 6, his first blue butterfly drawn in wall with a piece of chalk started dancing in air and his mother was nothing but amused by the sudden display.
At the age of ten, The first cat he drew became raw reality as it slipped out from the frames of his paper, curling up on his lap and purring. He had drawn a nice cat, and gray, was indeed the nicest cat he ever gotten.
At the age of 16, His mother had to scold him for thinking that painting a dragon in his room was a good idea. The cost of rebuilding that part of the house was enough to have him wince from the thought.
At the age of 20, he witnessed his mother's death, saw the pitiful goodbye in the man's eyes as he pulled his brother against his chest and ran out of the house, not looking behind him and clinging to the only thing he knew would be left of what they once called 'family'. He drove away and watched the bright orange flames engulf everything he knew of love, every memory. Tears streamed down his face, but there was no where to return to, there was only a brother's hand to hold and a future to walk into, with too many why's that never cured his bleeding wounds.
he stopped. It was at the age where he stopped painting anything. The old blue butterfly still dared to slip out from the corners of his papers, swirling around his head, desperate for attention. The gray cat peeks out of the closet before returning to its own home paper. It had been six years since he allowed his hand to draw, since he allowed anything to come to life.
perhaps if he was stronger, he could saved them, perhaps blaming himself would get him no where, but the feeling grips he throat and suffocates him, leaving an after taste too bitter for him to enjoy.
But then, every morning he awakens to go to work, His brother's voice rings in his ears. 'hyung, you should start drawing again' and then comes the desperate look on his face, one that asks yet demands, and its those days where he allows his gray cat to come out with consideration of once more drawing. Its those days where he wants to draw on everything and watch them come to life, yet he still gets dressed and and passes by the blackboard hung on his apartment's wall, going to hospital once more- perhaps the second thing that fascinated him enough to refuse art for so long.