– *opia
&&. @pxjungs; it is looking into those eyes where one wishes to snap all ropes and fall.
there was a body bent in slight odd angles, curling into itself over the desk, head laid on the left arm and the right wrist rounds calmly. if that body was to be cut open and its insides were picked around, one was ought to find a pair of lungs inside those sharp ribcages – those lungs inflate and deflate air easily, though heavily. this body is our very own kyungsoo, and his mind calmly sipped ink, which stained his slander fingers as they whispered words to his notebook, secretive and yet vulnerable to any curious eyes that would eventually find his anecdotes.
though he writes in an unbreakable concentration, those eyes of his fell heavy every uncountable minutes – he was unaware of how long he let his spine bend in these odd angles to describe the sunrises dripping into themselves under soojung’s skin. and time now is just as heavy as his lids – you see, dear reader, time runs some days, and flies others; but as for now it sits, still and persistent. it is no coincidence that the boy acts the same, drowning his doubts in ink, for one is their time, and time is what one makes of it.
and for a moment there is white-noised peace.
he exhaled softly, eyes shutting and hand unfolding around his pen. and his lungs were filled with haze, eyes dazed by bursting colors and their bright, golden roars, and hand folded around someone else’s soft ones; then there is pressure on his shoulder, the weight feeling so comfortably familiar his eyes only later lazily rolled to figure whose it was.
he inhales sharply, eyes wide open and neck snapping to find his pen laying next to his chair on the floor. a frustrated groan blooming inside his throat: his response to falling asleep, and to falling asleep to the thought of her. eyes shut once more and he keeps them as such for a few seconds too long. oh it is cruel – the absence of her is a haunting shadow, lurking in between the wrinkles of his brain, awaiting for a light to come and darken his mind with thoughts of her, which engulf him whole and sing its wicked, loving lullaby. it is cruel, yes, and however those ideas bother him, they are frequent enough to become his favorite dreams.
jung soojung is often winter, autumn and summer. but in his dreams, those heart throbbing, vivid dreams, she is spring, kissing roses in his cheeks and touching sunsets into his skin. and he finds that forever sometimes is made of a mere second.
once kyungsoo accepts he cannot slip back into his previous dream, his eyes open lazily – disappointed, even. well, imagination is his only medicine for heartbreak, how could we blame him for craving it. oh but he does not know this is heartbreak yet – a mere injure to his ego, he supposed, actually, since she fled their encounter so harshly. for someone so attentive of other’s hearts, he knows his own very poorly – would you not say so, dear reader?
and so he strolls out of this room, dragging feet and inattentive to the mess left behind, sleepy hands occupied with his notebook and frustrated mind with thoughts of her. once, he was told to be careful of what he wished for – the universe, so vast and complex, could perhaps hear his words and grant him his desires. and it is very ironic, he found, that after stating soojung’s lips are made of the galaxy’s edge, she would be there, cross-legged sitting on his bed – book in hands, as if she had not pinched his ( heart! ) ego hours before.
he frowns, then checks the clock. 01:24am. eyes back at her, studying her beautiful figure under his bedside lamps poor, yellow light; and he wonders if she would lay her cheek against his chest as he reads those words for her – kyungsoo, pay attention!
he shakes his head, then checks the clock. 03:50am. this is a dream. he scoffs.
“this is…” he sighs, incredulous to his own, wicked subconscious, “you run away and my mind brings you back”
