manic pixie dream girl.

the reason it didn’t happen was because she’d excuse it was a ‘colossal waste of time’ when there were other things she could be doing. at home. like watching netflix, putting on a full face make up only to be in her pajamas regretting the repercussions because her skin is sensitive to cosmetics, buying chicken nuggets in the dead of the night or eating something else equally unhealthy, going out for a walk for no particular reason (she calls it exploring).

the reason it still hasn’t happened is because she finally met the guy. and at a very unlikely place. there were strangers in the karaoke room yet she's shamelessly performed her all time favorite song: bohemian rhapsody. full on with expressions, gestures, the little acted out scenes, miming, dancing, parts where there was audience participation - everything. when it ends, she plops down the couch, leaning against her hand, fingers splayed starfish on the surface, while the other cards through the tousled strawberry blonde hair that she didn’t cover with a dark brown wig today. she hums along carefree to the songs or she sings them quietly in her corner for the rest of the time and sits just observing everyone in the room. 

not that she was exhausted. she had the energy of a bull. but that was her ultimate move, meaning it was all there is to see. otherwise it's bits of mediocre performances throughout the night over a banging opening.

she hadn’t realized who she was sitting next to. “you ever get that realization that you’re not actually cool? that you’re just room temperature? because that’s me right now.” she says out of nowhere, absentmindedly, downing her shirley temple as her eyes fixate on the screen. with the lights dimmed, every glance she’d take toward the seatmate would barely give her an idea who it was. a whole night flew by without her fully knowing. when it ends and it’s time to go, she bids him goodbye with the classic line that goes ‘we should hang out sometime’ which was sincere coming from her. before she leaves, last minute, she asks for a name. the moment it’s shared, it dawns upon her. this was the prick.

of course, she acts cool and calm over the discovery. room temperature at the least. the agreed meet up happens, going on for a second, a third, until they were regularly taking recess together in school and everyone’s talking about it. first impressions were revealed, and slowly on her side, seunghun permeates her every thought. she rehearses responses to him, rehearses the news she’d share, the stories. she’d imagine his reaction. her mind’s eye would see the how the light plays on his skin. each time he smiles, there’s a rush of warmth. a spark of hope for something between them.

the fact of the matter is that seunghun’s used to this, or he should be used to this. there’s nothing particularly different about the atmosphere between them and by different he means mannerisms, words, actions. he plops down across from her, it used to be a little away from her when he had a group of friends that used to accompany him but they’ve dispersed in favor of bothering him at different times. he’s not sure why, well he has an idea but the idea is far from the truth. it’s always been far from the truth but with younghee seunghun seems adamant on explaining that it’s not the case. that they’re not dating, that he’s not courting her or whatever the old as fuck language his friends use. dating because well they don’t associate him with commitments. courting because they don’t associate him with family pacts and arrangements. both are wrong but they’re expected and he denies them rather vehemently ( not as much now because of how much energy he’d spent on it before ).

don’t get him wrong he doesn’t mind sharing his friendship with her but when it comes down to it he’d rather not share her with any of his friends. friend is a strong word? his—— acquaintances? the fuckers who steal his food and he’ll still laugh about it? who can throw an arm around his shoulder but hold the conversation for more than thirty minutes. the idiots who will skip with him and not tremble like pussies because they don’t want their parents finding out they skipped history. who the fuck even cares about skipping history. the ones who talk to him with a little bit of an agenda but not much because he can never really be sure. it’s probably that he’s not entirely sure that he’s not too sure of what to label them as and he doesn’t even like labels. either way he doesn’t mind sharing her she’s not someone to share? not like a car or a doll but the friendship is a little more than something that’s open? of course he’d never say this shit out loud but ti’s okay because she calls his friends pigs and seunghun translate that as ‘i wouldn’t want to hang around them anyone’ so he’s fine when his friends take off and leave them whatever the assumptions.

still, he’s used to this, the atmosphere when it’s him and her which as it should be noted isn’t much different as when it’s him, her and some others. he feels special in that she doesn’t act differently when he’s in the picture. that she still shoves her face with as much as she can fit in her small ass hands ( okay they’re not that small they’re kinda small and kinda nicely shaped okay no fuck that they’re small and weird and poke him all the time and he hates it anyway——– ). 

she’s shoving combinations of food that he wouldn’t try even if he was baked and honestly she’s got some serious guts to even consider it, he stomach must be reeling in shock. he’s going to write a eulogy for it one day he swears. 

“your stomach’s going to give out or kick your ass one day and when that day comes i’m either going to write the greatest eulogy known to man or you’re going to come crying to me.” 

the thing is, seunghun’s got guy friends like this, with absolutely no manners and respect for the stomachs of the people they’re sitting with and it leads him to either refuse his own lunch or enter into a competition with them on who can eat the most disgusting combination? he usually wins. he won once when he drank peach soda after pouring some in his kimchi and mixing it with the oil from grilled chicken and garlic. safe to say he spent quite a while in the nurse’s office after but he won! so it’s not that younghee’s a girl. it’s not that seunghun’s not used to weird food bunches shoved into lettuce wraps. it’s none of that shit.

the surface is the same. his face still scrunches up as he watches her, his food remaining untouched until he decides he feels like stomaching anything. it’s the source of another unpleasant rumor, about him needing a personal chef or he won’t eat the cafeteria food. if someone actually thought seunghun had the time to hire a personal chef at the school cafeteria they didn’t know him at all. first of all that’s a whole lot of attention and a whole lot of work and decisions he’s not about to engage in. second of all he was the least picky person out of his friends and especially in his family. he could care less about what he fit into his throat. “no i’m not eating. i’m gonna starve because of you you cruel woman my appetite has left the building, i’ll call it back tomorrow.”

that’s another reason why her manners didn’t bother him initially. he’s the same! despite being raised on strict table mannerisms and etiquette seunghun would like to consider himself pretty normal when it came to eating. he would shove what he could if he had to hurry to class and if he was excited and laughing sometimes the food would spill out at unsavory intervals. people usually went along with it, considered themselves lucky that he loosened around them.  he really didn’t see a need to keep up mannerisms unless he was with his parents or at an important event. so what the hell man he can’t even berate her when he’s the same!

it’s just…

the first time he saw her shove the lettuce in her mouth he doubled over and fired so many insults she nearly beat him with the tray she had with her. the first time she nearly spilled milk she was downing out her nose he was so disgusted and amused he didn’t get a chance to touch his food he was laughing so hard. it’s settled into a comfortable acceptance that she’s not going to eat normally from this point on but it’s just————- when he scowls at her now it threatens to soften. when he moves to yank at her cheeks he’s also eyeing the rice bits on her cheek that he could easily brush off. he doesn’t. but the thought is there! the thought that sometimes he’s doesn’t even notice his food sitting before him because he’s just staring. staring?! like a fucking creep and he thinks maybe he’s fascinated by how much food she can fit in there without bursting her cheeks and well———— that’s creepy too let’s be honest. 

“you’re going to enter a food coma and leave me all here by myself. or you’re going to break a world record and still leave me by myself. buuuuuuuuuuut,” he breaks from what could be considered a one-on-one creeper staring contest to give her the worst possible aegyo-filled smile he could muster. “if you are going to get a banana milk you can get your favorite seunghun one too?” given the circumstances he would say he did well.

“wouldn’t you love to see that? me, crying.” she teases with a sly lop-sided grin. she doesn’t claim to have never cried, because she has. sometimes nights were spent doing that exactly and the reason she didn’t like watching romantic movies was because of how effortlessly every plot, main or side, makes her cry. it’s just his luck he hasn’t been in the movies with her. more so, her luck. she doesn’t know whether she wanted him to see all that. but there was part of her that did. because despite knowing ‘who she is’, he hasn’t stopped being himself. somehow everyone else that did has stopped and it’s why she’d felt so isolated in the face of being surrounded by everyone. the irony. 

then there’s the complex fact that he might not be ready. no one’s ever known how to handle a crying younghee. the rare times she trusted someone to hold her while she bears her vulnerable side, all that happened was panic. because younghee is strong, younghee is always smiling, younghee has a lion heart. younghee doesn’t get affected by anything, younghee doesn’t dance around issues. younghee, the iron lady. rosie the riveter, who? she’s no match to younghee. no one ever knows what to do in a situation they don’t expect. with all these perceptions tied to her public character, she’s no special case.

honestly, if she hadn’t eaten all that, she would try to endure eating his share even when it wasn’t very tasty just for the sake of teasing him some more. he gets irritated. sometimes she wonders why he continued to hang around her with that as the case. and for a second, she slips into a delusion. that maybe she was an exception to this non-existent ideal type she imagines he has or that she was the girl that broke it. he’s broken. not in the heart-way. she means broken in the way that he’d lost a good deal of sensibility. his sense of good judgement, very much like every other guy who tried. she shrugs it off, however. there’s just no way. no way. “well, that’s a waste.” another jab, another loaded statement. it’s a response to him refusing his food but at the same time, she’s self-projecting. “and very unfortunate.”

it’s such a waste of thought, such a waste of all the courage she’s always had the pride of having, that she’s backing down so easily. and very unfortunate indeed. in her defense, it’s because this is seunghun and there was a lot to lose. “i’m not taking any of that. i’m full now.” cue another burp, though smaller and quieter than the previous because she just forced it out. in this moment, she’s wishing she could just push it all aside and be more like herself. she’s still herself, but the exaggerations of the comfort she usually had around him was on excess. seunghun isn’t dumb. he’ll pick up on it sooner or later, one way or another. that’s the part she dreads.

"you should be honored i'm like this in front of you. you're the only one i’m ever like this with." she probably shouldn't have said that but how her words were mumbled, she's a little affirmed he didn't hear it. the last thing she wanted was to scare the living daylights out of him with a suggestion of a crush. crush; such an infantile word, and should stay as it is. contrary to that, she hasn't lived long enough for that kind of short-term 'end game' and it wouldn't be wise to put the idea of it forward for his consideration. it’ll be complicated. her life as it is was, so was she of a person as is. there was just so much at stake. so, so much. as she thinks this, there’s a sigh that comes out of her. she hadn’t realized she’d drifted off into reverie long enough that she was staring at him wistfully, chin rested on her palm with a slight frown.

she tries to shift that around, nonetheless. instead of a snappy look-away, she subtly rolls her eyes elsewhere as if her mind was going a mile a minute about things that matter more importantly when it was just circling around him, on and on and on. it’s even more fueled by his incessant talk of being left behind. why did it matter if she did leave him? he had plenty of friends. maybe she can sympathize with him feeling lonely in a sea of people, but so can many others. she wasn’t the only misfit. he’s proof to that. he’ll find many others who can relate to him. the same way she’s convincing herself how insubstantial her role in his life was, she did with her feelings towards him. maybe it’s just fired up by the thought that he’d be the only one who’ll ever understand her. how it’s like, how she is, how she preferred things to be.

but what if that’s not even the case? what if she just liked him so much, she’s persuaded herself enough that he actually understood her. their friendship was built on adventures and banter, and more adventures. just what she prayed for, it was dreamy. “breaking a world record would be awesome...” and it does sound like a neat idea. that, she wouldn’t back down from if there was potential. actually, she finds more potential in that than them sharing something more than a friendship. 

his following words catches her attention, shifting her gaze set on somewhere far back to him, and she’s taken aback because it comes sudden. the aegyo. she wasn’t prepared for it, never will no matter how many times he does it even just to make her laugh.

she doesn’t laugh this time around. instead, she feels a burn creeping up her cheeks. she closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose. that’s a blush, for sure. the next thing she expects is for him to notice and tease her for it. there’s no way he’ll miss it, with how pale her skin were. any other color that appears would be so visible, it slaps you in the face. her words were contrary to the uncontrollable reaction, “what was that for? jesus...” how many times she’s put a holy name in vain just shows how much she’s caught off guard. “now my appetite’s gone.” she says in jest with a shake of her head, but her evasive eyes hide the secret of her cyclic thoughts that centered on him.

the aegyo works, really. all the time. the difference now is that she hasn’t come to terms on how to acknowledge the effort and how cute it actually was with all these feelings coming to the surface. “fine, i’ll get you one.” she stands up with her tray of empty dishes, deeply sighing, before the smile curls her lips upward finally. she attempts to hide it with more sighing and biting down her lip and her walking faster than he would want to keep up with. 

@mlleitie 

It’s been five minutes in the making. five minutes of prolonged irritation, five minutes of a scrunched up smile and amused brows.

setting? Gyeongdam cafeteria. it’s never anything special. the cafeteria breaks the record for forced individuality that instead settles as awkward conformity. Cliques. they’re everywhere they’re obvious and it’s no longer unspoken that people separate themselves into them. Hell even the teachers sit with their own cliques. Forty year old virgin teacher who stutter when approaching senior girls, fresh out of college teachers with apples on their desks and virgin smiles, the teachers who talk shit about the other teachers, the teachers who are fucking other teachers. No one says anything, everyone pretends. It’s superficial and they wear the masks cheap and overdrawn. it’s tacky. it makes his face scrunch when he passes the tables.

That’s not what bothers him. 

There are the rich kids by marriage, so their parents married into wealth, there are the future business kids who study too hard and don’t let enough of their adolescent vulgar run free. There are the prodigies, athletic stars, the jocks and the ones who always take a picture in the mirror after leaving the gym. Everyone maneuvers around each other not like someone outside their clique is the plague but more like intermingling is foreign and gross and they might spurt warts if they so much as look at each other. It’s fucking dumb. It’s the high school equivalent of cooties. He’s tired of it. He’s accepted it but he’s tired of it, he’s always going to be. it makes him sigh into the chatter clogged atmosphere and look around with amusement.

That’s not what bothers him either.

Walking into the cafeteria is easy, he gets smiles from almost every other group and the ones that don’t smile will probably smile later, in another environment or in another space. The jocks ask him if he’s throwing a pre-game party to which he shrugs. Some girls ask him if he’s dumped his girlfriend yet, he doesn’t even have one. Some kid whose father just entered a partnership with his own asks if they can hang out, he says yeah. Everyone has speculations and expectations and Seunghun’s just trying to cruise by. He’s trying to ignore the guy with an arm around his shoulder with a mouth smelling of too much kimchi and too much weed. He’s going to ask seunghun for a hit later. Another girl leans too close against his side, fingers curling into his arm. She smells of a perfume his mom endorsed last week. Typical.

It’s still not what bothers him.

No what bothers him is past the ten minutes it takes to enter the cafeteria. what bothers him is five minutes of staring, raised brows and the first genuine scowl to cross his features since he entered. what bothers him breaks his reverie and doesn’t really bother him. it entertains him, makes him grin with this fond disgust that he would admit to no one. he hasn’t touched his food, probably won’t. instead his hands lean against the table, one elbow perched on so his chin can rest in his palm.

“yah.” he reaches forward to push her forehead back. it probably won’t catch, she’ll probably bite his finger. well she would. if her mouth wasn’t full of whatever concoction she’s stuffed into the lettuce. “yah what the hell are you entering a chipmunk contest later? do you get a lifetime supply of banana milk if you can fit the most in your cheeks.” it’s not that she’s not ladylike he could care less. it’s not that he cares that it’s bad manners even though he’s been raised on good ones. it’s that the obscene picture it makes doesn’t have him scowling for long and he’s doing his best to prevent the scowl from turning into a grin. it’s hard.

so he switches his hand’s direction midway and turns to tug at her cheeks instead hoping to make the image even more obscene and ridiculous so his words will hold their usual bite and banter. “yah yah yah food doesn’t even taste that good when you’ve shoved it all in.” his face still contorts in usual disgust but it threatens to fall.

that’s what bothers him. the lack of banter. the lack of bite.

man what the hell.

sitting with younghee in the cafeteria was a privilege. according to the talks around, you're ‘not allowed’ to just go for it even if spots are available. she has to give you the green light. the go-ahead. the nod. but honestly, if more people just trusted that she would, her unintentional territory would have been a full table every recess. 

there's a few seats taken by people she didn't even know personally. acquaintances. they spoke to her in their softest voices with words formed in compliments and only compliments. all she could do in response was smile and say ‘thank you’ even when in the back of her mind she's sighing out deeply. conversations with students here never had substance. or rarely ever. the most she's had it with were strangers; on the streets, the buses, the alleys she walked into and waited. never around here. she wonders if it's the norm with high school students, where all they cared for was the gossip that goes around. it’s the foundation of the school more than the concrete footing, slabs, and walls of the building.

the sigh of relief was blatant when seunghun arrives, taking a seat right in front of younghee with no warning. when he does, it's on cue that the present students take their trays and disperses even when neither of the two sends them away. she found it such an odd thing, how it seemed done by instinct but as time went on, she’s gotten used to it. that's an actual routine by now. and she didn’t mind sitting alone with seunghun. he was one of the very few friends she had that wasn't shallow like the rest. she enjoys his company. probably a lot more than she expected she would.

with that said, a shift of behavior surfaces. crunching up her food with her mouth slight open every time she chewed, treating him to a view of partially masticated vegetables. if she could have opened her mouth any wider, she could have eaten a whole apple in one bite. how is she doing this? anyone would wonder. she had flexible muscles everywhere. her legs, her arms, her forehead (yes, forehead), her nostrils, her tongue, her mouth. she calls it jaw gymnastics. then she breaks every rule in table manners. blows her nose, doesn't eat at the same pace as him, doesn’t even wait for him to start, holds the bowl of soup (or rice), digs into the side dishes and touches a lot of the food all at once, refills her own glass, and so on. it's a 180 degree flip of her behavior at home.

how trivial this seemed to people, she takes it as freedom. besides, she could do so much as sit across seunghun (or any other guy for that matter) and she's immediately labeled desperate, a slut, a whore. all the ugly names you could throw at her plus the rumors that come with it. whatever else, really. everybody talks, so why bother? she was past the name-calling and the criticisms. fortunately, there were some lighthearted ones. but it's still far from the truth. the general population is allergic to this very basic idea of 'truth', it seems. they say she's dating him when she guesses she's far from his type of girl in the first place. the feminine, the submissive, the superficial; the personification of a future stay home wife with the pretty face. a man needs an appropriate girl to reflect his achievements, right?

she doesn’t know this for sure. she just assumes. she would clarify but she never brings it up because it's a giant can of worms to deal with. either way, she didn't have to (though it'd be the biggest lie to say she hasn't thought about it, especially because she’s thinking about it as this very moment). either way, again, it's not exactly lying if she only omitted details and never talked of it. so apart from the massive chomp that's hindering her from speech, that's where the silence was coming from and as natural this all seemed, she's acting this out as much as she can. even when he flicks on her forehead and pinches on her cheek. she just gulped down and without pausing to breathe, takes another swinging bite. and really, he wasn’t wrong. though it wasn’t that food wasn’t as savory as it is when eaten slowly. it’s just that none of the food here was as appetizing as she’s making it out to be.

after a while of this that she becomes slightly amused by, she takes a break. drinks her water to flush down the residue left around the walls of her mouth and carelessly lets out a burp. “you’re not touching your food?” she first asks, disregarding every irritation-filled question he’s ever asked. maybe if she annoyed him enough, he would go away and she didn’t have to keep thinking. of the changes she was going through. 

how she’d feel a certain way whenever he came around, how she would freeze and trip on her words (which she had to nonchalantly brush off), how she’s attempted to bring it up; the nervousness of coming out and expressing what she guessed it to be and possibly, the deep pain of rejection when it comes out feebly. she’s never done it before and she decides she never has to. plenty of guys went out of their way, making a fool of themselves just to catch her attention, whatever it is that they see in her anyway.

“eh. i could eat more if i ate faster. did you know? after 20 minutes of eating, you brain registers all the chemicals you’ve taken in and convinces you that you’re already full when in reality your stomach can take up to about 4 liters of volume. i’m still growing, you know? i need to get taller.” her arms cross over her chest as her posture straightens, eyes shifting to an upward direction as the thought flashes by her. “now that you mentioned it, though. i should reward myself some banana milk. i ate that in about...” she pauses and glances down to her yellow wristwatch. “8 minutes... jesus...”

the bus is anything but luxury, the seats dulled by the grime of thirty years. when it rolled off the assembly line the seats must have been a brilliant blue, the chrome handrails mirroring the lights. the few people swamp their occupied seats with muddied silence. everyone awake. everyone asleep. their eyes are bleary, reactions slow, tiredness running in their veins just the same as their blood. it takes forever, it seems, to the passengers, for the old diesel engine to roar into life. when it does, a funny feeling comes, not excitement, though at first it appears that way. it's some relief, some fear, some grieving for the place they leave. ahead is unknown, all they can do is pray for things to be better where they are heading for. they cannot know what is on the other end. 

these seats and windows shook with every small bump in the ragged pavement, jostling the passengers back and forth. the air conditioning pumps through only a few filters, whistling with the extreme pressure. it smells slightly of diluted gas. as the world slides by the window, there are small movements from amongst the passengers. someone shifts in their seat, there's a little cough, a little sneeze, probably from the chilly weather of fall. everyone lurches forward slight as the bus comes to a stop - engines cooling.

she paid attention to every new passenger that came in. people watching. just one of her hobbies. outside, a man drops his cigarette, smothers it with his foot and blows the last breath full of smoke before he steps inside. the doors close with a gasp of air and the bus moves once again as he walks down the aisle then settles on exactly the seat across younghee’s side.

soon the tires kiss the smooth tarmac of their destination, repeating its eternal pattern of stops and gos, turning down its routine corners, and failing to avoid the ditches carved in the blacktop. with the bus in motion, an emotional no-man's land takes hold in its myriad of manifestations, every person unique, destination known and unknown all at once. it went for what felt like an eternity, she must have missed her stop already. but that was on purpose. there was nothing to look forward to at home. what she does there, she could be doing here or anywhere else quiet. which was her alone time to think.

days were always long and eventful for our cool girl, younghee. not because she went on adventures, piloting a bunny robot and killing off a baby dragon or having a shot at boot camp training with all the tough, bulky military guys. honestly, if people knew the things she was interested in, she could only imagine how quickly they’d turn their backs on her. on the supposed popular and fun girl that they know of. she’s a nerd, literally. and right now, a nerd looking deep out the passing views that becomes a hazy blur. she sits in a mixture of cozy and bored. she checks her phone periodically for new posts on social media. twitter, to be specific; where all the fun is.

“did that stop we just passed by say ‘anal beds’?”

to this question randomly blurted out, she’s confused. but she looks up to find the bus almost emptied out by the previous sparse crowd and there couldn’t have been anyone else he was talking to, unless imaginary friends was something he still believed im at the mature age he seemed to be. the english words first throws her off until it gets the tingling familiarity in her ears the more she thought of it. “it might have said ‘anal beads’.” she says in the most sense she could make out of his bizarre musing. 

color her intrigued, however. and it’s seen with how she immediately has her phone away despite being in the midst of comedy gold. this was equivalent to that, she debates in her mind and then the theories start. rather, ones she’d known and thought of sharing out of nowhere to contribute to the arbitrary exchange.

however, in order to achieve that you must give up whatever your purpose in life is. whatever it is that you were always meant to do, what you were supposed to contribute to the overall scheme and future of the life of the universe, your purpose… the whole reason you were even created, even born in the first place. you must give that up. you don’t know what that is. you’ll never know; but, regardless, you say yes.

perhaps you assume you wouldn’t have made any sort of significant difference anyway. that butterfly effect theory or whatever they call it? nah, you call bullshit. it doesn’t matter - you don’t matter, at least not to anything outside of your immediate connections - and it’ll all be fine, and you’ll just live forever with minimal (or maybe even no) consequences.

so, yay! you’re now immortal. you’ll never die or get hurt ever again. wee!

but then, centuries and centuries later (not to mention that by this point you’ve gone through horrible heartbreak and misery and despair because every loved one you ever had, every friend you ever made, every person you barely got to know, has passed away, died as you lived on long without them, helpless to do anything for them as you watched them perish, unable to ever go with them or ever see them again. but i digress), now, you learn you actually were important in the grand scheme of things. you were supposed to be a key factor in the world’s survival, long ago; but, because of the choice you made (immortality over individual purpose), you were never given the knowledge or awareness or resources or ability to save the world that you were always supposed to obtain, before you unknowingly made the wrongest choice to ever wrong.

needless to say, you’ve fucked up big time.

the entire universe as we know it is destroyed soon after this horrifying revelation. it implodes, collapses in on itself, essentially forming a massive black hole or something. stars, nebulae, galaxies, solar systems and planets, worlds and worlds of living people and things, and light-years of time and space and life, all sucked up into absolute, indefinite nothingness.

but you remain.

just you. floating amongst, spiraling around, rocketing through, suspended in… nothing. with a feeling of such unbelievable loneliness that your feeble brain can hardly perceive, can’t possibly hope to comprehend. not only are you the only living thing left, you don’t even have one inanimate object to keep you company. you have literally. nothing. and you are literally nowhere. i mean, technically, you are now the universe - if it would bring you petty comfort to think about it that way. you. only you. with nothing, no one, nowhere. forever. and ever. and ever.

all because you thought you didn’t matter. that you had no real, meaningful purpose. that you could never possibly make a difference. but you did. and now look what you’ve gotten yourself into, you silly nugget. you’re gonna be pretty bored and lonely for that eternity, huh? or maybe it was out of selfishness. maybe this wasn’t because you felt useless, but because you simply only cared about prolonging your own life and nothing else.

the moral here? be selfless, and always know and remember that you matter.

or else, one day, you might destroy the universe. and be left to suffer, and be tortured horribly and endlessly by the void of nothingness that has consumed you. with no way to escape. ever.

all things considered, would you choose longevity over purpose? immortality over meaning?