TEEN SPIRIT

lullaby beneath luna's beam - @yangity

Written by: yangity

YANG JUNGWON - ENHYPEN

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

written by: @yangity

— yang jungwon

Though ashes, we become,

evermore shall we sing a lullaby of our youth.

April had finally blossomed from the menacing blizzards of winter and the grip of ice began to weaken among countries of the planet's northern hemisphere. Even the skies were glorious upon the meek essence of this revelation, that the sun pushed through and gave the earth a dazzling welcome to a new season where youthful flowers may bloom with the equilibrium of its heat and a little of the earth's mist. Prattles— new and old, told and untold rang across the elevating streets of Yoo Yerim's coastal neighborhood— youthful countenances expressed through the form of their crescent lips and vanishing eyes.

"Spring time!" It had already been afternoon on the first of April when Yerim laid awake, opening her blinds as she proclaimed to the realization of the liquefying frosts. Snippets of the outside flew in as the lady peeked through, more intrigued as her sight landed on the cascading sun. "It's spring, it's spring!" She commenced running down the stairs as she was saying these, at the state contentment incomparable to any moment.

Through months and years since being brought to life, Yoo Yerim— she who embodied youth, had encountered every solstices and equinoxes there are, yet never seemed to care much about it before suddenly waking up caring. It resembled the world favoring her the second she arose from her bed and chose to give the sophisticated earth a glow of her crystalline corneas, seeing tendrils of vines springing out and a whole new world to catch smiles who were no longer worn counterfeit. It was as if she had been offered an opportunity to reverse the irreversible, give the fallen a boost for a chance of crest, and make withered flowers bloom. The coziness of the sheets were not there to be given care of, rather to be cluttered upon the bunk of an artless youth whose spring was the season she adored.

Attending to the exterior which still had its glimpse of the cold, Yerim headed for her lonely bicycle who had only been sitting around the corner of her garden for quite some time. Its drive chains were worn out, barely able to move, but they gave hope to her of being the one to take her to every rims of the village. Along with her yearnings, she held on to its handlebars and commenced such a meaningful journey, where the atmosphere was especially not too welcoming— for her.

"O-M-G. Yoo Yerim, is it? I heard she hasn't gone out of her home since she was about thirteen— how awful! She's grown up a lot since we last saw her, though."

"Of course she must have! Growing up is a thing, dumbass."

"Damn, it sucks to be her."

"Yerim, I haven't seen you in ages!"

"Hypersomnia? That seriously exists? Never heard of that— but I've heard of insomnia for sure."

The town people were blissful, young people who once only had a care for their own lives, but as they lived with undesirable conditions who chose Yerim as their vehicle to run around her head, the same people were piqued about her, generating general burbles that were never hushed among the village. Nevertheless, Yerim proceeded to use that force she had placed on her feet to pedal at the same speed despite having to hear such sickening chatter she'd consistently trip on. It may have stung her ears to an indefinable level, but years— the world beyond home was a foe of hers for years— only able to befriend through dreams that would run for hours. For five years, home was the only access to everything she ever asked for in life.