PASSAGE ( J. JUNGKOOK )

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the shaky boy stood to his feet.

vacant eyes took only slight notice of how colourless his surroundings were. a worn bed- the colour of clouds on a picturesque day. a neglected vanity with a wooden frame- the colour of little pills, eager to provide relief from stormy thoughts. a slightly battered table- the colour of vehement lightning, unleashing its anger on the earth in a single strike.

and a torn journal that lied atop the lightning-coloured table - blue. the colour of rapid tides, the colour of untouched skies - the colour of him. he felt blue. blue crawled up his spine and into his perspiring skin, leaving him with a familiar heavy heart and heavier eyelids.

he took a leisured step, bare feet padding against a limitless tile floor. tranquility washed over the blue boy with just that small step.

the bed called to him, promising him salvation from this aimless isolation. serrated teeth nipped at his ears, contradicting whispers slithering down his skin. however, the blue was most deafening. its voice was small, meek- so faint he could hardly recall it, but he recognised the deep rattle in his heavy chest. it spoke to him in ways the less important parties could never attempt to. the blue held his bones together, flowed with each inhale and exhale, ensuring more happiness than he could imagine.

he hardly knew what the word meant - happiness - yet, he took another step.

with each slow step, the murmurs grew more thunderous, yet never became anything more than what they were- murmurs.

the blue, however, developed a bold voice. it spoke in an assertive, poised way that eased the lethargic boy in the most familiar way. in a moment that transcended all time, nothing mattered more.

the mumbles vanished when he reached the table. his environment grew more lifeless as he extended a trembling hand and reached for the journal. the beaten faux-leather beneath his unknowing fingertips ignited a flame within him - the most torrid of flames, displaying a peaceful, azure shade of ruin.

he had never felt so warm.

he plopped down onto the table in one swift movement, ignoring the pleas of the bed. it desperately tried persuading him to abandon the blue, for his own sake, attempting to convince him that where he belonged was beneath the silky, protective sheets. it spoke tales of dying colours and an unavoidable fate. how the fire adored the ocean so much that he extinguished himself just to love her.

the table, however, expected nothing from him. it told him to come as he was, that everything was okay, promising no accommodations.

the bed just wanted to break his fall. to comfort his inevitable collapse. each page brought him closer and closer to midnight.

every midnight, he fell.
every midnight, he awoke.
every midnight, the shaky boy stood to his feet.

END.