"𝐼 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝐼 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒,
𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑎 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑠 𝑖𝑡𝑠 𝑚𝑜𝑜𝑛,
𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑎 𝑐𝑟𝑎𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑖𝑑𝑒"
❛ 𝑱𝒊𝒔𝒖𝒏𝒈 & 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒆 (𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒇)
❛ 𝒕𝒘𝒔: 𝒈𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒇, 𝑱𝒊𝒔𝒖𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒔𝒏'𝒕 𝒅𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕 𝒏𝒆𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒑𝒉𝒚𝒔𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒏𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚
❛ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔: 3142
***
A young boy stands by a gravestone, in the middle of snow-covered graveyard. Black strands of hair fall over his dark downcast eyes, shrunken pupils and heavy eyelids. He's pale, almost like the snow under his feet, but his cheeks have a reddish hue on them.
In his black clothes, with a hood over his head, he looks exactly what his vibes give as well; melancholy, bitter and just deep, humane sorrow.
He's hands are bare, fingers trembling due to the icy mid-winter breeze that blows around him.
He puts his hands in the pockets of his jacket, gaze lifting up and looking forward, unfocused. He doesn't have anything in mind either, it's just a blank stare with a blank face.
His mind is blank, excluding some lines from his memories floating around and repeating themselves like a mantra. He can't escape his past. He is able to dodge a future though.
Right?
He regrets using his last joint completely. He fucking craves for one. He has had a weird ache in his stomach for days. He's constantly restless even though his head is an empty void. And once he lies down, his eyes keep blinking slowly but not once closing for more than a quick second.
He doesn't even do anything anymore.
He must be a pitiful sight.
He huffs tiredly, a warm breath creating a puff of steam in the cold air. The orange sun is setting behind the tall concrete buildings and dim shadows dance in the graveyard. He shivers.
He moves his eyes to the gray stone in front of him. Bending down, he wipes away the snow on top of the stone.
He reads over the carved letters. The same letters that has been there for two days already. The person they belong to doesn't exist, but the name does.
The memories exist as well.
With a last glance he stands up. "Good night, ma" and his slumped figure is walking away like just having lost a battle of decades and accepting his defeat.
...
"Sungie, come eat!"
He can make out a way too excited tone of voice calling for him from somewhere in the apartment. He buries himself deeper into the sheets, hoping his weighted blanket would press down on him more.
"Sungie, come on!"
He curls slim figure up even more, shivering even though he's currently under four blankets. He can hear lively chattering from the other side of the closed door.
His friends. He can't shove them away. This is his room but not just his apartment. And while his friends are a close, compact group that hang out often together in the same places, he can't feel the excitement to join them.
Not anymore.
He's tired and has been having this nauseous feeling the whole day. His legs are barely able to hold his weight and his body upright. His head spins and chest tightens.
