Dust Dance

She narrowed her eyes at the tiny specks of dust floating in the air. The sunlight was clear and bright, and each mote shimmered with a faint rainbow glow. She said, “That's what we're like.”

Some people say that being a fan is just one grand, unrequited crush, like dust and the sun. The sunlight burns, but no matter how completely a speck of dust sets itself aflame, it will never earn even the slightest favor from the sun.

So her love was hopeless, answered by not even the faintest response. It was like walking alone through an endless corridor, empty and desolate, with a distant light ahead that promised an ethereal, illusory happiness. She knew she could never reach it, yet blindly believed in her heart that she was drawing closer, until her steps grew heavy and she died of exhaustion. Even so, she had no regrets.

He was like a cat.

A catlike man, sensitive and fiercely protective of himself, sometimes unable to help showing his claws.

His appearance was irresistibly alluring, captivating women's hearts, yet he pretended to be innocent. His hot-and-cold manner was just the thing to keep people curious and make them fall deeper and deeper.

He was a mystery, waiting to be explored, uncovered, and peeled open layer by layer, until someone touched the deepest part of him and fell in love beyond all hope of stopping.

She knew this was a love game she was bound to lose, one that could send her tumbling into an abyss if she wasn't careful.

Each of us is like a tiny speck of dust, fighting to the death against fate.