luminescence // d.k.s.

galaxies

she knew that the eyes truly were the windows to the soul, and that the soul was much deeper than she could fathom. galaxies are hidden behind every pair of eyes, she would tell herself, as stars fell out of her own galaxies, the tears pooling from the eyes as round as the planets and their orbits.

she was broken. that, she knew aquiescently. she accepted it. she could hear the milky ways and the comet belts in everything, some louder than others. she heard the cold-hearted moon in her mother's voice battling the heated sun in her father's, but she felt the calming breeze of the atmospheres in the aerial acciaccaturas of the music she listened to in attempts to drown out her warring parents.

she wrote, lived, breathed, and sang in cosmos. however, she always cried in galaxies. the reasons she scalded her tongue from the burning of the stars that she shed were aeviternal. although, one thing that made her starry, lonely nights just a little brighter, just a little more blissful, was when she looked up at the galaxies on the roof of her little periwinkle, vine-wrapped house while listening to the same cerulean and heliotrope and amarantine and pearlescent songs on repeat; cadences so beautiful she couldn't help but hum them to herself. that was her vice, reading and writing and dreaming about galaxies that she would never reach or hear or know; and she accepted that.

then her mother and father, finished bickering for the night, would slide open the window she fit through and they would ask a why are you still up, but never were they angered, only oblivious. all they did was kiss her forehead and tell her to "say your prayers" and she would say "yes mama, yes papa." she wondered, "do you still love my daddy" or "must the sun and the moon clash always?" but no words had the audacity to escape her lips, not even a whisper; and she accepted that.

what mama and papa did not know was that she did. she knew. they thought a girl young as her and with her head as high in the clouds as her would never know. but that she did and she accepted that.

she sat in school, her rounded glasses pushed up the bridge of her nose as stars turned to constellations which formed words which she adored reading and writing and listening to in adaggios and choruses. she was a prompt student. reason being it was an escape from home; an escape where she focused on what subject compliments were and how to turn decimals into fractions and how oxygen was crucial to the combustion of a flame. it was great; school hardly gave her time to think about how she was never the subject of compliments or how she felt so small and hollow she was nothing but a fraction, a decimal of a heart and how she had no oxygen to fuel her flame, the flame of life. she was alone and she accepted that.

but to accept something is to come to terms with something. to accept something to her was NOT being okay with it. who could blame her? who could dare to blame her for wanting so terribly to be wholly happy, but accepting that she wasn't? she was cursed. broken. bent. alone. terrified. sad. but she accepted that.

until one day, when her head was down on her mahogany desk, tired after studying and listening and hoping all night, sleepless hours circulating and intensifying in her head, and the teacher said, "good morning students, we have a new student with us, please introduce yourself." and she raised her head and saw a boy with heart-shaped lips and a smile like no other radiating back at her. and he said

"hello, my name is do kyungsoo, please take care of me!" and he bowed and everybody smiled except her. she was stunned at how bright he looked, how luminescence came off him. but she didn't mind him much and he sat by her and said how do you do? and she said okay. and he said "i am kyungsoo!" and she said "yes, i know." and he said "what is your name?" and she whispered an "annhyeongsayeo, i am ara."

"to know," he said. "your name means to know. do you?"

did she?

yes, she did. she knew of the constellations and the black holes and the milky ways and the cosmos and the planets and the orbits and the stars of their galaxies.

no, she did not. she did not know, or remember, the smiles or sunshine, nor the clouds and birds and springtime dew or a real family or laughter or happiness. but,

she thought, and she accepted that,

galaxies are beautiful too.

---

hello, its amelia. i made this at like midnight just bc i was bored.

yes, i didnt capitalize or properly annotate dialogue. its supposed to be that way.

i love you all sm :), i hope you like this. i tried to make aras description a little vague so you can imagine her.

maybe even as yourself ;)

thanks <3

amelia