obsessed with cranboo and the inherent fear of the unknown. because for him it’s not just a what if? it’s what if i forgot and he cannot rationalize that it mustn’t have been important because his mind does not speak for his heart. it’s an endless battle of trying to be caring, trying to be a good person, trying to be reliable. at his very core? stripped down to bones and skin, he cannot say for certain that he is. he wants to be though, if ranboo could be anything in the world? he would be good, it would be enough, just to know he is good.
so ranboo will write till his hands fall off. he will worship with eyes closed and heart watching. his feet will prune and flowers will curl out of his open chest. that will be his final stance. his final word of pure intention and no impact.
he’ll swear every prayer he’s yelled hasn’t been a want, not a beg, not a cry into the universe. wholly unattached from mind, to being. he shall believe every sign and every word spoken in cold water. ranboo shall believe to embrace the unknown in thought but never in practice. a battle of mind he will lose.
unknown will seek ranboo out. crawl into his bed, into his grave and cover prayer hands with dread and a what if. there will be a cry from the universe. what am i, what was i meant to be, is there still a chance? ranboo’s mouth has been sewn shut, teeth soldered together. the universe, for once, will call to the unknown.