tokyo: waiting by the bus station at 10pm. people come and go, but no one stops to stare. the smell of smoke trails into your nose—and it screams danger. but you’re tired. there is no where to run.
seoul: feeling claustrophobic in your own skin, you wish you could strip it off of you. home never felt so foreign, but where else is there to go? nails dig themselves into your thighs, but even then the pain is numbed.
moonchild: watching the dusk turn to dawn, and dawn to dusk. time moves, and it slips through your fingers the more you resist. “it’s okay,” you think. the fireflies in the sky blink in agreement.
badbye: lurking beyond the edges of your vision, it is a shadow. it is looming, a thing of darkness and coldness. in your blindness, you scramble to find purchase on something—until you feel cool glass under your fingertips. a mirror; it was you.
uhgood: swirling like whisky in a bottle, your thoughts feel like lead in your brain. there are sights to see, things to achieve—but you stand as stagnant as the puddles after a storm. your mind is a jail, and you are it’s prisoner.
everythingoes: there is coffee trickling down the side of your cup, but you choose to watch the sun rise beyond the horizon. the final boss waits idly, waiting for your arrival but you pause to tale the scenery instead. there is no need to rush—the sun will come and go regardless. they will wait for you.
forever rain: the raindrops feel like weights against your skin. has the world always looked this gray? umbrellas and boots slosh their way past you, but no one takes the time to look back. it is only the cold arms of a winter night’s breeze that you can call your own.
