#changwon

[justmesnaps]

Lights and leaves 🇰🇷

[ballparksaroundtheworld]

Changwon NC Park, Changwon, South Korea

[geewhizze]

Bakery Cafe 1997 in Changwon-si

Matcha Latte, Orange Blossom Tea, and Short Bread Cookie

03.01.2023

[pinotn]

Changwon, South Korea

[sayorikao]

Um bolo de aniversário no faroeste de 2089

Capa tecnológica, Monsta X.

Autora: SugaMinYoongi97

[monstaxstuff]

✫・* ━ changwon lockscreens;

please like or reblog if you save/use

[tomorrowxtogether]

11/10/19 Changwon K-Pop World Festival ©FruityB

[jclarkeelliott]

I’m leaving home again.

I’m leaving home again.

No, not that one. I left that place a long time ago. But I see the same faces.

And I don’t know exactly when this place came to replace the other.

Maybe it was when I saw the children, that very first day, when they touched my face and asked me where I came from. I can still see their frantic eyes looking into mine, or rather, the eyes of another me, as he told them stories of places they will never see, that aren’t so true anymore.

But the faces haven’t changed. They still smile and cry and say all of the same things that those other people said.

“I’ll miss you.” with a grin and a nod.

“Don’t go.” with a hand wrapped tightly around my wrist.

And the pangs of desertion ringing in my heart are a tolling bell, beckoning me to another land and people that will not know these tones. As the end crept closer, the pangs howled louder, steadily building into the cacophony that curses me now. How I wish to be deaf. Yet the memories of that soft and somber melody that it once was will carry me to the end, like a child’s finger descending piano keys. 

I hear that Saturday morning, when the girl’s dodgeball team pulled me into the huddle before the last game of the season. 

I can just catch the soft hum of the KTX train taking me home Sunday night from the best date of life, and the whirring of the cicadas lulling me to sleep in the summer.

And if I tilt my head I can pull out the xylophonic sound of soju glasses clinking over the hiss of pork belly bits dripping onto charcoal.

But there’s also the dull murmur of racist ramblings from a drunk old man, or the sharp clap of a woman being slapped for talking to outsiders. And I can still sense that heavy silence in the air when that boy in my office told me he didn’t want to live anymore.

As they say, of good things and bad, these sounds and stories will come to pass. But what I fear most is what they don’t say, which is, how these things will go away. Will it pass overhead like a cloud on a windy afternoon? Or like a kidney stone savoring every chance to delay its demise? So, like a groundhog too early to say, and too late to decide, I’ll watch my shadow until the last night of this winter.