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you taught me the courage of stars before you left. how light carries on endlessly, even after death.

with shortness of breath, you explained the infinite. how rare and beautiful it is to even exist.

I’d give anything to hear you say it one more time, that the universe was made just to be seen by my eyes.

the end. (3/3)

there is music nestled in the waves, notes that settle into his bones -- they charm him, coax him to come closer. he complies, feels the water cover his ankles.

with the original list gone, he is left to recall the people he loves by memory; their names sit on his tongue, escape in whispers as quiet as prayers. his eyes close and he imagines where they must be -- where they have gone. some have left him by chance, by fate; others by accident; some by death, some by life. some were there for what felt like minutes, others for what felt like entire lives.

and as he recalls them, he tries to trace their journey: most of them have gone now -- their orbits change, their gravity finds a more potent force. they have forgotten him like a bad dream: so earnest and deliberate that he feels part of himself lost, too. he tries to see himself the way they do, tries to see the faults in his nature. the dangerous mixture of intimacy and distance -- the way they would race towards an ending while he, enamored with the present, fell behind, each time further and further. he wants to stretch the seconds out, to live outside of lines, outside of words; he wants to understand energy, wants to be part of it, but they all have other goals, places to be.

he imagines them as birds: each one more beautiful than the last, lush, grand. he sees them flutter away from him towards an endless sky -- they have so many horizons to explore. they take pieces of him as they do and he's left empty, on his knees. he allows himself to cry.

maybe if he hadn't expected things to fall into place; maybe if he believed less in destiny, less in love, he, too, would fly. maybe if he weren't himself, he would do something other than sink further and further. but there is blame to share, so he rids himself of it; steps closer into the ocean to dip his hands in the water as though anger were tangled in his fingers; as though the churning waves cleansed instead of urged.

after all, it is his fault for loving the way he did: like a piece of ice breaking apart over a pond -- brilliant in the spring, gone by the summer. he is too intense in the way he loves, allows himself to melt into another, afraid of demanding or wanting or complicating the peace he's come to known. he loses himself; becomes a stranger, flighty, inattentive to himself, enraptured in detail.

he always loves slowly, hopes that he has enough time to unfold himself. enough time to show the intensity of his feelings, to be loved honestly, wholly; to pretend less, share more. to experience complete affection. yet, people do not share his patience -- they obsess in action, find that other honey is rewarding. tastes sweeter.

but there is peace knowing that every night spent with them, whether sleeping or awake, telling stories or dreaming together, will always reside in their memory. perhaps not in their conscious, but their architecture; the physical memory; the lasting legacy of love. the water rises and he tries to forget the way that they do. he forgets about his bones, about his flesh. forgets about the lines of reality, allows fantasy to rush in, all at once. memories come after, and for once he is not afraid.

jinyoung welcomes whatever comes.

in the midst of ruin, he remembers the list -- remembers the people. imagines them in their lives, happy, carefree. his heart lights up; he celebrates them; urges them to teeter towards the light, towards that unhinged joy that he could once provide, that lies buried somewhere in the sand. wounds begin to close, water washes over them. he is struck by how light he feels -- the world has cut him, demanding change, but he has not hardened. fearful, yes, but not bristled. he wishes each of them well; gives them the breaths of his heart, each gasp, each sigh, each whisper.

the world around him keeps spinning and he learns to recognize its motion. he is beyond dizzy -- everyone in his life moves with the seasons, and although frustrating, love always consumes him. he remains there, suspended in its hold; he only wishes he could have had more time with them, but life has plans for each person; the universe has its reasons.

oceans breathe, the wind blows. it keeps spinning and spinning and spinning. he doesn't exist in their thoughts, only within himself, among his own. he is a part of their past, and he finally recognizes it, embraces it. he remembers the last conversation with his mother when she pleaded: don't be angry, don't be upset. everything falls into place.

pieces rise, pieces fall. everything resets itself, remains in permanent unrest. light teases the edges of his vision; nausea comes forth, but jinyoung begins to rest. he learns to stand still. fixing fractures takes time, but he takes another step; the water promises closure; its music lovely.

the world spins faster, he sits in place. protests it. finds power in silence. finds himself in the loneliness, more familiar than it’s ever been. nurturing.

nahyun calls in the evening, but he can't answer the phone. he is too busy dreaming.

#: identity #arc 5 : end

21 10 2017

you deserve love -- let it overwhelm you, let it pour in all at once and from every angle. feel it grow inside of you.

you have been loved.

and you have so much love to give. don't close yourself off; don't lock your doors. let them in.

you can find me miles away from these blinding lights. i'm dizzy, i need to heal.

- until next time, jinyoung

p.s. flowers always help.

#: journal #last journal entry in arc 5

the end. (2/3)

they find the bird when it rains for days -- drops scatter on the walls of the apartment building, and the bird waddles when they come close. it looks hurt and jinyoung has him pick it up, gently; they take it upstairs, though it makes no sound and gives no fight. he asks jinyoung if it will die, to which jinyoung responds: "only if we let it."

together, they make a home for it out of cardboard with neat holes sliced out; they give it seeds left over from spring, provide water. it trembles when they inspect each wing, but it is willing, always willing. the first day it makes no sound, the second it sings; the fifth day it starts fluttering around the house -- jinyoung watches him chase the bird with a wedge of laughter in his throat. jinyoung's heart warms.

at night, sometimes, jinyoung leaves his room to watch it sleep, though his steps are too loud and by the time he arrives, the bird awakens. it looks at him and jinyoung looks back, tries to make out some sort of persona. later, when he returns to bed, he dreams of flying.

jinyoung knocks twice before someone opens. a face appears, round like moons and just as solemn. the eyes -- as always -- remain the same: nervous and restless.

"what do you want?"

"i just came to see how you're doing -- you didn't answer my texts."

"yeah, that was a hint."

words, clumsy and thin, tangle in a mess at his throat; they warm; jinyoung feels like crying.

"are you just going to stand there? aren't you going to leave like you always do?"

he spends his sunday evening alone in bed. carefully, he slices into his skin and begins his work. there is no art to his movements as he begins to cut out the sadness like he would cut the fat from meat; he cuts out every pain, leaves the memory. he slices out the tears and saws off pieces that have rotten; he scrapes his bones until nothing but the memory remains -- the sights, the sounds.

the call of the sea in his ears; the breeze that makes his hair scatter as he looks to jinyoung with a smile; humid breaths; the taste of his fingers against his tongue. he leaves their laughter, the silent language in their eyes -- the pull that felt so much bigger than them, the cosmic influence. he cuts out the cold of his mother's fingers, rewinds it until they're warm again; until her remain open; preserves her voice when she sang, her yawns in the morning. he goes so far back that he cleans himself of pains that have no recognizable shape -- trauma he has forgotten to name. and in this pocket of his soul he finds joy, too, that he holds close. it feels like remembering.

jinyoung lies on his bed in agony and bliss, a purge that empties his lungs but fills him with light. slowly, the heaviness of his affection lifts and flutters off, as though his emotions were butterflies that had forgotten how to take flight. he watches the dark light up with their white wings and the inky black shapes on their edges, legs dusted with pollen; one by one they leave him until he's hollow and happy.

"do you think i can make my own constellations?"

jinyoung's eyes open; the night sky stretches above them, a deep violet.

"yeah, i guess you can."

"i'm going to make one of us."

"really?"

"yeah, see -- there you are. there are your ears, there are your eyes. and your nose."

"what about my mouth?"

"it's up to you, do you want to be happy or sad? you can even be a little mad..."

"i'm not sure."

they release the bird when the clouds have marched out the sky, pleased with their wet interruption. it looks much healthier in a week -- no longer stumbles when it walks, spreads its wings at full length.

bagheera watches from the corner the window while jinyoung takes the lid off the box. for a few seconds, nothing happens; the bird cocks its head, looks around. then, without warning, it takes flight -- clumsy at first, but soon it soars. it looks divine.

jinyoung watches him chase it to the end of the sidewalk; he points, jinyoung looks in wonder.

"look, jinyoung! it's flying so high! it didn't die, jinyoung, we saved it."

and he traces its path with his eyes. it shrinks until it is nothing more than a speck, set on never returning. jinyoung, at once, feels empty and much older. the air seems to still and his breaths pause. soon, though, a hand tugs at his shirt and a voice fills his ears -- something about a restaurant and eating. gushing pride and proper rewards.

#: identity

the end. (1/3)

his toes tread over the cool, white ridges underneath the arch of his foot. it takes a moment to find a footing, but once he does, the rest comes naturally; his body bends and curves; his hip leans, arms rise to cover his torso lazily; between his legs, a cloth dangles, trembles in the wind as it rests on his thighs. his neck rests at an angle and he looks off at nothing in particular, eyes full of longing. around him, bodies float to clothe him; they seem desperate to, and he looks confused -- is this not how he's supposed to be?

jinyoung is made of seafoam. the taste of his skin comes from the salt of the ocean; when he cries, the waves murmur and weep with him. his laughter is sunlight dancing on the waves; his eyes, when tired, hold the sunset on the horizon as it cools into a deep, rich blue. he moves like water runs -- fits into every situation, always flexible, never breaking -- wild, erratic and free.

mother tells him he sways when he walks, like an old boat at sea; father tells him he's weak willed, that any gust of wind can push his sails into any direction. it is his grandmother that tells him he reminds her of the open sea: honest, lonely, and too intense.

the longer he stands there, the colder he becomes; the sun begins to set; the night chills. the calls of birds become smaller and smaller cries until, after a tiny note, they leave, too. he's left alone to consider the beach: empty, expansive, endless in its reach. he wonders what it would be like to walk along it, but he's afraid to do it alone.

he takes up his position again, resumes his wait.

"you have to grow up at some point, jinyoung."

"i am grown."

"no, you're not. you know what i mean."

"sorry."

"stop apologizing. but, really, jinyoung. you have to find it in yourself to mature. if not for you, for him."

"we're doing fine."

she sighs, jinyoung looks away. he looks at his hands; the skin around his fingernails is red with scabs where he's been pulling. a habit of his nerves, as insidious as he.

"if you need anything, call me. stay out of trouble."

"thank you."

his grandmother's words haunt him: too intense, she tells him, and it follows him like a curse. his first love repeats them when jinyoung confesses one night after a moment of intimacy. too intense, he tells jinyoung, and it takes every fiber in his body not to cry right there.

he does it two nights later in the backseat of a car, drunk beyond recognition.

too intense, they tell him. the way he looks too closely, for too long; the way he loves the pieces of things more than the whole -- he adores that mole, the curve of that neck; he loves the way the night settles around those shoulders, the way his reflection looks in those eyes. his love is like worship -- it demands too much in return.

the way he spreads out belongings as if it were a ritual; as if everything required focus. pagan and tedious. every bit as precious as the last, just as important; the smallest details matter more to him than the largest nations. here is where he finds peace, where he finds calm. jinyoung forgets little.

he beings to speak less and to dream more until he walks around in a permanent daydream. the world becomes rosy, and he bends to its will. hides his obsessions in notebooks, shoves them under the bed. his joy rots like apples do in the summer.

"would you miss me if i left?"

he looks to jinyoung, a bit surprised.

"are you thinking of leaving?"

"no, but i want to know."

"you don't even know how much i would."

"good, but i'm not leaving."

"i don't think i could live without you."

his cheeks redden; he hides them in the folds of the sheets.

jinyoung saw it coming in the stars: the way they swirled and pranced. the way they flickered. he traces them with his finger: they spell out a warning, but he ignores their shapes. he bathes in the silence of his room; simmers in the quiet; thoughts swell, but he distracts himself with sleep. he sees less and less daylight.

along the way, he loses his sense -- loses his mind. love does that, he says, comforts himself with memory; with words; promises. but no matter how much he believes in them, they never warm his bed in the same way. each night it widens and lengthens; each night it comes closer to drowning him. he starts to sleep on the floor.

two weeks later and he hears the news; as expected he smiles, nods, looks to the sky and thanks the universe. someone should be happy, they deserve that much. at home, he pulls out the list of people he loves; he goes through each one with care, pronounces their name out loud, wishes them well, says his goodbyes. when he's done, he folds it four times, places it in an envelope, takes it outside, sets it carefully in a bin. they haul it away in the morning.

"do you love me?"

jinyoung searches in the dark for the shape of fingers; he threads them in his, presses palms together; if he focuses enough, he can feel the pulse of the other's heartbeat.

"yes."

"how much?"

for once, he doesn't sound apologetic. there is no fear.

"too much."

#: identity

wnq-movies

Help each other. Love everyone. Every leaf. Every ray of light. Forgive.

The Tree of Life (2011), Dir. Terrence Malick (via wnq-movies)

17 10 2017

sometimes i wonder what it would be like to finish first. to be shown off, to be adored without restraint. without shame. i feel burnt, i feel small. exhausted.

sometimes i wonder if it’s just me -- i dug my stem into the ground, let the earth nourish me only to be uprooted in the end. were my leaves too wilted? my color too speckled? did you find another shape prettier? was the nectar sweeter.

sometimes i wonder how the pain ends, and if it will ever. there is nothing lovely about love; it feels volcanic, a mound of earth splitting apart to let molten ground loose. it leaves you scorched and terrified. it tears you in half, pulls out the worst of you, heats you until you erupt again and again and again, until, faced with another heartbreak, you choose to cool, instead. you choose to harden, to become a rock. you choose a quiet burial; you choose the end.

sometimes i wonder if the voice calling at the end of the hall is real. every person i’ve loved, here in this life, in the past, coaxing me with my name. it sounds delightful, attractive. it tells me to return with them, to go home. each day i step closer.

sometimes i wonder if this was meant to be, or a mistake. a flaw in the universe. maybe my pain is cyclical; maybe in each life i make the same mistake; maybe i am the earth you build your house on, the foundation for your future. maybe i am more fixed than i want to believe.

sometimes i wonder if i’ll matter. i think i will, not here but there, where we live in the sky. energy ebbing towards each other; where everything is light and love; where you’re lavender and i’m gold. i race towards the final edge, the outlier.

sometimes i don’t bother to wonder at all.

sometimes, sometimes.

- resolved, jinyoung

#: journal

plum

you hide the last kiss under your tongue. you feel it there, pulsing; roll it around your mouth when you’re lonely; suck on the taste. press it against your teeth so it stresses and breaks. you build it again, slow, sew it with the twine of memory -- tender stitches.

it always tastes different: on rainy days, it’s sea-salt -- the waves crash against the sand, sound climbs up your legs. his hand pulls you close; the kiss tastes like the ocean, your mind a storm. you drown happily.

sometimes it tastes sweet enough that you cry. carnival music hides inside your chest; presses and swells against the seams, and it feels like you’ll burst all at once, and that kiss haunts you, the taste of cotton candy -- unhinged, and infinite. it fills your mouth until it is the only thing on your mind. until you know no other taste; the wallpaper starts to peel in the edges of your vision, tease of a spring that comes, a summer that leaves. the trumpets in the distance, the quiet of a ferris wheel.

you tuck his last laugh behind your left ear. when you work it rings like a bell; it chimes; it excites you. it’s the last thing you hear before you sleep -- it’s the music that haunts your mornings, a sweet ribbon of sound. you close your eyes, imagine him there.

only when everyone has gone, pulled by the own gravity of their lives, their problems, systems that you have proven too unruly for, do you realize that some people are made for one another. that he began where you ended -- that your breaths, taken miles apart, followed the same cosmic rhythm.

and you want to tell him about your discovery, want to tell him how the universe whispered its secrets into your ears last night; how you heard the stars sing, that their harmonies are just like you’ve imagined them; you want to tell him you drove and drove until you found the bent tree with the low-strung bright fruit, how it misses him; how you leapt off that cliff, dove into the water, your throat full of sound; how the cold water made you shudder.

you always have so much to say. like you wish you could tie his hands to your waist so you can take him with you in every step. you wish you could keep measuring his breaths when he slept, wish you could have taken that trip you both planned -- that you could escape the world with him in tow; wish you could cut each other’s hair when the sun hangs high, could draw on each other’s skin underneath stars. you wish you could chase him, court him, dance to the harmony of his words -- the orchestra of his voice; you wish you could show him how joy returns if you wish hard enough, that nothing ever breaks if you’re liquid and don’t follow rules and dream above the law. you wish you could waste your life away with him, gather your own collection of treasures. you wish you could leave him breathless the way you used to; wish you could take him back to the night you both met; wish you could spend your time so close to him that he could live in your bones; that he could swim inside you; that the universe could not tell you both apart so that you could sneak past its walls to defy time; you wish you had forever.

and you wish you could love him again, so deeply that the gods trembled, afraid that you could make something so divine. you wish you could go back to when life was easy, when the sunlight curled and rested on your shoulders, when it warmed you with desire; when it fed your ambitions.

you carry the last shard of hope behind your knee, where nobody thinks to look, hidden so well, so out of sight, that you lose track of it, too. then it falls one night as you stumble home, too drunk to tell apart streets, following only flashing lights, and it clatters on the sidewalk; the sound makes you remember that even when you yell, the world doesn’t listen; it doesn’t care.

you wake up alone.

disobedience

"do they always end up together?"

"no, not always."

"then what's the point?"

"i guess that's why there's a lot of them. they have the chance to get together. and if they don't, they can try again."

"but if they know they should, why don't they?"

jinyoung fills a cup with juice, sets it on the table. a pair of eyes looks at him; he feels their weight. jinhyuk is wise beyond his years.

"things get complicated."

"that's stupid."

"a little."

he keeps a picture of him -- small, folded. he stashes it away with the rest of things that remind him of other places, other times; of people. a baseball rolls out of the box, his mother's earring glitters in the corner; his father's glove; chan's keys. the windows are drawn shut, the air stills. time pauses for him, here, and he feels weightless; much older, though. as though he were looking back rather than sifting through the old relics. markers of beginnings and endings.

dust has gathered and he spends some time cleaning each piece, thinking fondly of it. for each item he misplaces, he apologizes -- he thanks it.

each item he puts back, he feels lighter. life is simple, he thinks, wiping down a small ring. he places it next to the wooden rose. after he's done, he opens the window again. the sky is dark; stars try to peek out of the thick blanket of city lights; a low moon rests near the horizon.

and just like that, life goes on without him.

"god works like that, jinyoung. he gives and he takes. there must be a reason."

it's been two weeks and he still feels numb. he hasn't cried.

"i know, grandma. it's just... not fair."

"nothing in life is ever fair. you're dealt cards, you learn to make do."

"maybe if i would have done something different -- maybe if i was different."

"don't beat yourself up, jinyoungie, it's not your fault."

he thinks: but it is, it is, it is. it always is.

that night, he sleeps on a wet pillow.

they dance in circles on the rooftop; music treads lightly. they've brought no light -- instead, the moon carves out their features. steady eyes, a softened nose. it's enough for jinyoung to smile.

the hours feel liquid as they ebb around them; they slither into place; into every crevice. they slow, and jinyoung has to fight their urge; he stands to dance again. their laughter rises in looped circles, draw shapes into the night. jinyoung tries to trace them; he helps.

once they tire, they retreat into a small corner; the building overlooks a portion of the city. jinyoung sees a small, orange glow flicker on in the corner of his eye.

"don't smoke -- you'll die sooner."

"and?"

"i don't want you to."

and the night keeps unfolding like a dream. like it will be infinite -- them together, the music that punctuates their minutes, the way the daylight seems to hide, afraid to interrupt their night. even the hours cower at their feet; jinyoung wants to live in this moment forever.

"why do you look sad all the time?"

"i'm not sad, i'm just pensive."

"what are you thinking about?"

"a little bit of everything."

"is that why you're so lonely? you think too much?"

"i'm not lonely."

"i know, i'm teasing. hand me the remote, this show is boring."

jinyoung moves, though he's hesitant to shift his position. for once, he feels comfortable. the more he reaches, the more they untangle. when he has it in his hands, the whole couch shifts, then he's left alone. a door closes in the background; the sound of laughter spills out of the tv.

jinyoung sits at the third row, in a seat near the left. he sets his bag on the empty seat beside him, though fifteen minutes pass and he decides his guest isn't coming. still, he smiles, sits a little taller; pretends he isn't out of place.

the show opens with a small monologue -- then the dancers fill the stage. a choir sings to the left; a pianist plays at the right. he tries to focus on the way the lights dance on the stage; limbs falling into a structure; geometry folding, and breaking before him. the steps are familiar, he knows them well, but on stage they feel new and costumed. glossy.

he appears in the third act, a part of a group -- they sing and move in unison, almost identical, but jinyoung recognizes the short neck, the ears; he can trace the nose with familiarity. jinyoung smiles as he watches nervous eyes shift across the audience; they lock on his. the dance continues for a few minutes, the song for much longer -- it’s laden with dramatics, violins enter his ears. the whole world fits into these seconds, it seems; a grand gesture of the universe.

when the act closes, jinyoung starts to cry. slow at first, but steady. his cheeks are wet as he claps -- the applause swells and fills the auditorium. for some reason, it's deafening. then the lights turn on. clarity rushes in.

conversations

"you know he didn't really love you. he said those same things to other people. you aren't special."

her smile gathers like broken shards of glass that he picks up with bare hands. they slice into his palms, the folds between his fingers. he bleeds.

unsure of what to do, he returns her smile. something inside of him strains and creaks. an old wound awakens.

"it's okay. i'm still thankful."

"then you're more ridiculous than i thought. i don't know what he saw in you."

"me neither."

"you're kind of dumb, aren't you? sitting here. nobody wants you here. they don't even pity you -- it's just for looks."

"i'm sorry."

"do you think he still loves us?"

"i'm sure, on some level. not all love is the same. it doesn't show up the same. it can look different."

"does he ignore us because he loves us?"

he never has an answer. he lets his fingers fix jinhyuk's hair; he smooths out a wrinkle on his shoulder; fixes the collar of his shirt.

"maybe he knows it's better that way. that's love, too. putting others before you."

jinhyuk sighs. he looks away. his lips push together in the pout jinyoung knows well.

"i wish we could have a different kind of love, sometimes. i feel like we deserve it."

jinyoung speaks, but he can't hear himself. he focuses on the depth in his chest; the way his heart sinks, seemingly, into an infinite hole. a well with no end. when jinhyuk speaks again, he sounds much older. jinyoung feels something turn over.

"come on," he says, "we're going to be late. i'm excited for today."

he manages a smile, manages simple posture. the rest of the day flits past like the beat of a wing, like a dream.

“can i get two?”

“sorry, hon, i only got one left.”

jinyoung hums, then nods.

“that’s okay, we can share. then can i have another one of those -- that one, yeah, with the swirl. it’s sweet, right?”

the woman nods.

“and some drinks, too. do you still have the strawberry flavor?”

“sure, hon. do you need another bag? you still riding that bike?”

“no,” he says, “i drove here.”

cycles

On the first day, he fasts. He waits until the apartment is quiet except for the gentle patter of paws, and even those pause when Bagheera finds a small patch of sunlight to lay in. Next, he moves to the kitchen and empties the fridge; he pulls out food with wonder; lays each vegetable and slab of meat on the counter in a neat, colored line; he regards each wide eyes and clean fingers, short nails. He prepares a feast. He does not think of his empty stomach -- he does not notice the way it constricts, the way it growls. All his focus clusters around the food, the way it feels against his fingers. When he’s done, he feeds others: Jaebum, the cats, his neighbor next door, the woman on the first floor with too many children, too little time. He is not satisfied until his fridge is empty, mind clear.

The second, he doesn’t leave his room, spends most of his hours sleeping or in front of the mirror. He undresses slowly, carefully. He looks as his body from every angle. The dip in his back; the pudge of his stomach; the way skin stretches over his hips; it is an orderly mess. These are his ribs, those are his knees; his ankles prop unsteady calves up. His skin feels soft under his fingers, but he wonders what it feels like to have it pressed against someone; what they feel beneath his fingers. Jinyoung’s eyes close and he daydreams. Later, in the bath, after he’s scrubbed himself with a washcloth, he falls asleep. When he wakes up, the pads of his fingers have shriveled. The smell of rosewater burns in his nose. Bagheera meows outside his door.

Third, he learns to breathe again. He opens two windows, closes his eyes; the breeze bunches around his cheeks and he inhales it. It fills his stomach first, then stretches his chest. His toes curl, it feels like floating. His phone rings from across the room but he is beyond noise, each moment drawing closer and closer to the window. He swears, if given the chance, he could fly -- could walk on air. His legs itch for opportunity; his eyes closed tight, like bolted doors that refuse to be opened. But the air is full of whispers. He steps away from the window, drags his feet across the floor; his toes straighten, his legs tense and loosen as though in dance. A new emotion pulls him along -- a brightness he feels. The air is bursting at the seams; it spills out in tiny spaces, like small holes in balloons. Life swells past what he can name, what he can identify. Yet, life does not end there. He drinks it into his lungs, brazen, unapologetic. He chases the rush. In the distance, he hears the front door start to rattle. Someone unlocks it, swings it open. A voice fills the room.

Jinyoung follows the sound. His lips pull back into a smile.

15 08 2017 every song that plays comes with its own burdensome load of thoughts, meditations. associations and colors. like fruits at an open market. love songs are lighter. - tired, jinyoung

#: journal

10 08 2017

1. wouldn’t it be nice 2. happy together 3. unchained melody

- retroactively, jinyoung

#: journal

06 08 2017 time is so fast. summer is already speeding to an end. sometimes i think of what i have done and what i have yet to do. i see it all stretched out in front of me like a wide landscape. bulging hills, softened pastures. you are in every mound. you are in dreams. in music, in dance. the static of television. the sway of curtains. the clatter of paws against the flooring. it's like we have never been apart. - lucidly, jinyoung

#: journal

jinyoungot7

photographer jinyoung 📷

umma-jy

dinosaur mouth jaebum and jinyoungie looking for escape

29 07 2017 i'm afraid that i'll have to wait for the rest of my life. the clouds don't clear up. the nights full of rain. mornings with thunder. lightning thrown against walls. it frightens me. will you wait with me? is this selfish? - concerned, jinyoung

#: journal

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