#fmdverification

eternal sunshine of the spotless mind.

despite how many times she’s repeated the movies in her head — set forth with the question of whether any erasure of the memory counts towards the steps of healing — she finds something new.

this time, the fixation on the cinematic score, an ethereal dream shifting the pieces of fragments of fiction versus reality prompts her fingers on the keyboard to start trickling a series of notes, one by one. trickling dainty, delicately. it mimics the tempo of classically thought-of harps, and the note leads to a drag over one and another. and when inspiration hits, she goes straight towards her home-studio, the new file of a blank screened ableton before the record starts, and she carries the notes, letting the settings hit almost to the notch of mute.

there’s no heavy emphasis, just the trickle of notes she wants to carry the dream of the track. it’s the lucid dreams, the ones that feel like when you’re drunk on little hours of sleep with heavy eyelids, and a heavy heart to match. the nostalgia that comes in waves, just like the gentle sounds to lull you to sleep, knowing full well you can’t.

she imagines the song to have a feeling, the lyrics that are sung in a way it just drags. heels in the ground, one word blending into another in a sultry emotion that counteracts the nostalgia lodged in the song — makes note of that for later, but for now, inaudible words, just phasing past her lips in small ideas of how the melody goes.

she takes the first one, the counter-progression of the initial notes as she hums the words, taking two notes forward in the same pitch before the other falls back. it all contrasts by the time she takes a stark turn, starting another line with a higher note, only to transition down. her pen jots the time stamp, a possible falsetto? she leaves that to later judgement.

but work doesn’t always come in a streamlined process, just as it’s hard to solidify ideas one by one, in a cohesive manner. instead, it comes wayward from all angles, and she falls back to the instrumental, taking in the slow bpm tempo — leading with a possible chord, heavy on the synth to start each trickle of keys. this time, the setting’s louder, spotlighting the attention to the thickness of the beginning, setting up for the entirety of the dream.

-

when she falls back on the track, she finds herself doused in inspiration days later. working on bits and pieces, martyring it like a puzzle still to be written. she takes her notes, one by one, still no lyrics at hand but an idea of non-coherent words and strings of random sentences — the heaviness of the chords, the synth and the trickle of keys she alters with editing, building up from the minimalism of the keys to heaviness of the synth by the time she picks where she sees the chorus.

vibrato on the voice, drag the end.

she writes that down, singing along empty words — a more powerful vocal execution, even where her own struggles. a dip before the vibrato and the drags paint the canvas whole.

the song’s not for her, least not when the power dynamics of the song — the counteraction between the softness of the dream with the voices of reality are centered around the song. the verses carry themselves alone before she takes in a different set of notes, speeding them up towards the end. a nameless track with an empty story — it’s the skeletons of something, maybe someday it’ll come into fruition.

— 

the song repeats itself in her head, like a taste of irony. it bleeds into her thoughts when she’s drifting back, lost in the middle of a meeting — the dreamy synths drowning out the talks of the executives, and by the time she spares a few hours, she’s already back into the studio, notebook wide scribbling down rudimentary sketches of clouds and figures.

turns out, it’s another love song struck in her mind when dreams entice a figure of her past that comes to haunt her in sweet memories, too sweet to be drowned out by any erasure.

she writes the first few words:

drawn in a dream that i can’t wake up from i was still looking for you

it’s like sleep walking, or some wicked form of lucid dreaming. walking around in circles hoping for a figure of the past keeping up — but the reality brings to a limbo that leaves her double questioning the thoughts of what’s real and what’s fake if the thing she’s looking for all along becomes the centerpiece  that all draws to him.

because she knows, optimistic thinking. wishful dreaming — it all dies the second dreams blur with reality, and what’s sitting in front of her becomes the hopes and wishes she spent her 11:11s and pennies on. her breath held still, a person of permanency to become exposed right in front of only to realize the first taste becomes like the first hit of a drug that takes over the body in full throttle. exhilaration, and addition all lying on the first whiff, putting her on a cloud nine, skies above her head. no recollection for the past nor future when the present feels so good.

now that i found you i can’t wake up i can’t escape from you

but even addicts have their downfall and the high doesn’t last long. least not when the shaky withdrawals of a person no longer being there starts to breed the downfall for a constant lingering feeling of wanting something that’s not there. she knows it, and she’s sure anyone else does too — the way he’s there and then poofs into fine air, the remnants of the cologne left on his clothes the only piece to tether her back (only, that’s a lie. it’s always been a lie when the memory becomes the final force of red string tethering her still).

in the end, he’s not a creature to be caved in nor is she a creature meant to stay still. freedom lingers like a butterfly always waiting at the end, with the only possibility of hope: maybe, someday it’ll return.

even if i struggle to hold onto you’re still like a butterfly

she wonders how she became a lovelorn addict in the first place. how she became jaded by the pinky promises and breaths shared underneath the blanket. heartbeats playing in sync, and the gleam in her eye that writes the story for a future left unwritten — little did she know, it’d be left as the future untold. 

if anything, it’s pride that tells her to regret. prevent the beggar nature to fall onto her knees and plead for a sense of freedom — because the more she thinks, the more she dwindles and the pang in her gut grows. 

she writes down her pleas here, because if not here — then anywhere housed in her thoughts would topple over the self-ruination in.

let go of my tired heart the deeper i get, the smaller i become the one that got away, making my heart more painful

it’s a pity song, a pitied dream. one word after the other scrawling itself across the pages. yet, the journal houses the same old song written fifteen different ways, each word, each sentence staking the same words unspoken to a boy she can’t bring herself to call. empty lines, and empty text messages — erased, then re-written over and over. and the only remedy becomes the hope that someday it’ll enter his own ears through the speakers — because in the end, she falls inside cowardice. falls too short, becomes a coward to bring herself to say it out loud: i miss you. i hate you. but i can’t regret you.

-

like a school girl, she carries her harddrive close to her chest. crossed again, hidden behind a mask as she finds her way, her own unwelcomed entrance coming in a peek through the doors before she steps into the studio. her hands toss the disk to her friend, sitting happily in front of the desk — he’s a free soul, unbridled by any company and a worker to all. still, friendship crosses work boundaries when she comes in for a second set of ears, and he picks up on the one-two cues already halfway plugging the drive into the computer.

“i want to add a series of chords, guitar — but i can’t get the right set, or the right set.” it’s her concession, when she hums along what she means, fingers already pointing to a screen at the set time point. “i’ve added in as much synth as you could see — heavy handed especially where the chorus blurs into the second verse, and the end of each line to exude that cloudy blur i want in this song. but here.” her nails tap once more at the screen. “i want this weird chord style, where it’s somewhere between electric and acoustic, heavier than the piano that carries the song.” 

too many words, and she waits in the silence, arms crossed against her chest — awaiting an answer. but she knows, her friend works in silence, taking in the entire song the whole way through before parting his lips to give any sort of answer.

“you could add it towards the end of the song? the entire beginning sounds too heavy on the synth to add anything else.”

she weighs her choices, a song spurned on by inspiration. yet, she stands in a limbo of not knowing what to do, and what to add. instead, she tilts her head, lips unevenly pursed to the side of her face. “could we try adding chords? but the specific settings of an unplugged electric guitar”

“you don’t think it’ll clash?”

“if we keep it silenced enough it doesn’t drown out the keys, i think it could work.”

her friend motions over to the lines of guitar stockpiled in the side of the room, “take your pick.”

11:11 make a wish.

and that’s what she’s known from grade school on — lucky number eleven. (and she figures, it’s possible for luck to draw from the number when it’s one off from a multiple of three). but it leaves a pocketed memory, each time her eyes fall onto the clock picking up 11:11 throughout the years.

a 11:11 for the empty tears of desperate sobs, a heart pounding wayward against the breaths that don’t leave her lips. a 11:11 for the silent moments of solitude where the mind writes itself a blank canvas, and she only hears the glimpses of sounds that nestle its way past her apartment. a 11:11 for the string of text messages unsent, and the 11:11 in the afternoons signaling the start of the day.

today’s 11:11 falls at night, when she finds herself covered up against the end of a seoul summer. still left with the same pieces of no resolve left, mourning the break-up that fell straight past the void of her fingertips. it’s this restlessness in the night that pulls up her notebook, when she’s scanning past the stages of empty stories and outlines of words she composes when her mind’s filled with nothing more than mismatched ideas and lost memories.

when she finds herself on a page prior, she reads the piece slotted at 11:11. figures, the seo minjung in the past wouldn’t outsmart the seo minjung of the present — the nostalgia with the number still remains the same.

it starts off with a few words, connecting the empty pieces of a dead-end relationship. a wound fresh, bleeding red to the point where she can see where the tears smudged the drops of undried ink. sees where the words end with “will i forget you?”

she writes her response as no.

everything finds its place and leaves you took all of me and left but like the two hands of a clock i keep lingering in the same place

because back then or any time in the past in respect to now, she finds herself making a dwelling of the same old sob story of a girl broken hearted. fragmented as a victim of the old memories she draws back, over and over again. irony hits her when she realizes — nothing more than 11:11 flipped, or the hands of the clock. any juxtaposition leaves the same thing read over and over again. she lands herself in the same dwellings — by choice, when it houses the warmth she’s come to known. because even if the foundation lies creaky and everything becomes another scar against the skin of her bones, it’s familiar. warming, the kind of second sense intuition that draws her in closer each time.

but just maybe, she’s the only one settling in nostalgia.

when she looks back to each date set — future plans, written in stone only for it to be shattered from twenty feet over. the rubble enough to set as pebbles lining the floor as she walks her feet one by one, numb to any of the pain. she thinks he’s better off now, forgotten about it when she’s the only one clinging on, holding each step into place to feel something once more.

the remedy is simple: if she holds on long enough, stowing it away. then, maybe by then, it’ll become erased and thought of no more.

in the calendar the date we planned long ago if you forgot about it all i guess i have to erase it after a while

she writes her response one after one in honesty for a future reflection of herself to read. by then, if she’s lucky, it’ll settle in surprise with everything wiped from her mind. she’s no clementine, and he’s no joel — and given the choice, she’s not sure she’d rip away the stitches for a gaping heart, yearning to remember.

instead, she’ll hone it up to fate. hone it to 11:11 the next time her eyes draw towards it — because the only honesty she reveals tonight lies in the final two lines:

you took every part of me i’ll believe i’ll be over you

it’s hard to accept the last fact knowing closure doesn’t come so easily. but, she’s gone girl. always moving from one pillar to another, people to people. setting to setting. a sea of faces and a million and one bodies, she finds her home in nobody. it’s just theory — the fixture he’s become has settled in was too sturdy for a wreck like her.

she closes her journal up, checking the clock. no longer 11:11, it lands in 12:12 — unlucky and ironic.

-

she takes autumn in colors.

hues of ashy browns, tattered with the muted oranges of colder weather. the coldness enough to make her fingers frigid, knowing full-well the swing of seoul’s heat will rise up again with the sun.

but for now, it’s night time, and she makes her mark in calloused fingers, pressing into each string one by one. baby chords as her instructor would say. she likes the sounds of the minors, fitting for fall and slotting right into the melancholic haze. it’s strumming on the first chord, before the realization that the progression follows a smoother transition, like she’s falling from summer girl to fall woes.

it’s the steady pace, the progression like you’re easing down, only to fall a step upward. it’s at that point where it feels a little stronger, more stable — enough that her fingers press on the laptop recording, a bare mic. stripped from the studio, honing in on the acoustic echoes of her living room space. she starts strumming one chord to the next, finished with the final, only to loop it over and over again.

it’s strumming along, the lyrics right in front of her. as soon as the first progression finishes, it’s left right in mark with the statement: it’s 11:11. 

she sings it, more along the lines of stating the facts than providing any more than a soft lullaby. a statement that strikes the beginning, sets the tone — addresses the obvious: 11:11, make a wish or say a farewell to the past 11:11s down in the graveyard of broken promises.

so, when her first few words sing to the loop of chords — she takes it gently, reels it back from the statement in song. it sings itself, no frills nor fancy rifts that play to the voice. instead, she hones it to a series of a single octave, carrying the words slowly, gently. like a present packaged and labeled: fragile, handle with caution. the first verse flows, steadily carrying on each fragment of the story — it’s what she writes down: carry on the song throughout, second verse too.

the build-up of the chorus lies flat when judgement tells her to keep the minimalistic seams of the song in tact. the song lies in the acoustics, the rawness. the general vulnerability that carries afloat despite the transitions of chords. she carries those on when her voice sing-songs into a tug of war at the chorus. it pushes, leading into a higher tempo as her fingers tap along to the rhythm she has in her mind, feeling like there’s one last push, trigger to lead the words left under the pretense of guarded hearts. 

yet, by the time the push dies, it comes time for the pull back — the restrain of two feet treading backwards before the brunt of it topples over. still on guard, like reaching the pinnacle of the rollercoaster braced for the fall, only to slowly retreat. 

retreat comes in the na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na’s. no meaning, just floating in the ellipsis of things she bites her tongue for. a to be continued or read between the lines for what comes next, honing in back to the power of acoustics then to the next verse. 

the song comes in an evident pattern, a rollercoaster that finds itself more like a round about carousel than anything else.  

the night ends, and she finds herself trapped in the hours of reworking each chorus. finding the breathiness of the line endings, an airiness that carries itself full circle throughout the song. a mere demo takes her to sunrise, to where the remnants of the playback of a night spent leave her towards to stare at the sunrise, half-guessing the demo. it still feels bare bones, lacking a certain melancholic grit — still, she doesn’t touch it. leaves it at that.

-

by the time she reaches the song again, it’s been more than enough time and passage of too many schedules to render her mind without any recollection besides the light flitting touches in a sleep-deprived daze. she sits on her desk, replaying the demo over and over till the bare bones touches of the song clocks her once more. there’s a confusion, rendering a palm to her face, staring at her monitor — a clash of song layers, each bit taken from each take. 

(she still tries to add in something).

the traces of an orchestral echo in the back — scratch that, it classifies it too much, not meant to be a broken and bred song of heartbreak nor a remnant of chopin’s dark marches.

she takes the piano, adding in harmonies to the guitar chords in the build up of the chorus. it’s enough that it doesn’t fix itself to anything more than another shade of blues (she keeps it, muffles it out to hide behind the strings only until the ellipsis moment leaves her to play the trickle of keys louder in the higher octaves of the piano).

it’s not until the percussion takes place, she’s left at a standstill. confusion in how to drain out the song enough, but not to the point where the entirety of the strings loses its place. so, she reverts to gentle taps of the bass drum, steadily thumping the bpm like a metronome — an audible metronome, that still seems half-fleshed when she’s sits face-first in front of the screen. she plays it over, and over — still lost, still confused. frustration takes full force before she adds anything else, and she admits defeat with what’s present.

her fingers click away, packaging the sound into a file. a quick kakao sent — “i give up, and this is the most mastering i’ll do with this. it all sounds the same, help.” 

when jiah had asked him to write for her, he jumped at the opportunity; after a small talk with her about what she would like, they settled on a melancholy ballad. from that point, he had gotten practically creative freedom about what to write. yejun was honored that jiah trusted him with that; they had been friends for so long; if anything, it might be a given that she had faith in him.

the melody had been set in stone already; all he needed now was the lyrics, complete creative freedom, but there was still some pressure on his shoulders.

yejun lay down on his couch, looking up at the ceiling, and he started thinking about what he associated with feeling melancholic. to be gloomy or sobering thoughtfulness; when he closed his eyes, he saw the color blue. a common saying when someone is sad is to say they feel blue; a smile crept upon his face. the irony of it all, the color blue used to be yejun's favorite color.

it was a nice name for a title; it set the mood immediately.

coming up with lyrics for a song, for him, usually started with the pre-chorus and chorus, and if he were to draw inspiration somewhere for a time, he was feeling blue. yejun still vividly remembered the feelings he had been left with after breaking up with his first love, the way sadness had come over him for a while, and how he was changing. 

"my heart turned blue."

he said the sentence out loud before seating himself, looking at the notepad in front of him. there he wrote blue in big capital letters as he started grinding his brain for how to word things, so they sound bittersweet.

my heart was turning blue, became a wilted scent

thinking about the past usually brought someone pain, but he had gotten over those feelings; now, they were just fuel for his songwriting when he needed to feel sadness. to be wilted, he did feel wilted for a while after the breakup. it didn't last too long because there had never been enough time to mourn, but he remembers how occasionally he'd call out her name from time to time.

there's no name when i call your name; it rings out like an echo

in many ways, yejun's first love became one of the reasons he drifted away from the color blue even if he didn't think about it properly, but yejun remembers how drawn he had been to the color red. yejun continues to write. 

you are my blue

he sings the sentences aloud to himself to make sure they fit the melody; if his lyrics don't work, it would all be useless in the end. then his gears started grinding, and after many different versions, he had settled on the chorus. yejun rubbed his temples, not much time had passed, and he felt content with his progress.

in the distance, he could hear his cats run and jump about, it was a short distraction before he shook his head to ensure he would focus on the task at hand. now that he had settled for both the pre-chorus and chorus, he needed to write the introductory first verse; it was the second most important thing. the first verse was there to capture the emotion from the beginning and as he hummed the melody to himself, to get the feeling of bittersweetness, recollecting the thoughts and feelings he had back then.

white night is beautiful but it's even colder tonight match my gaze one more time, a bit more

it was a whole process but he didn't want to present the song for jiah until he had the lyrics done, so there he sat writing about things that could bring out the melacholic feeling in people. even if something is beautiful, when your heart is broken you feel at a loss; one feels cold. sometimes ones personality changes, yejun taps his feet to the beat of the song and sings the lyrics he's written. drawing circles around words, where he has notes on how she should sing.

he wasn't sure how long he had been sitting there, yejun hadn't looked at the clock once but when he had finished his first draft the clock was close to 11pm.

the next day, yejun grabbed his notepad again and this time sat down by his desk. to re-read what he had written, change the way sentences were built and make sure what he had written suited the melody. this didn't take as long as writing the lyrics itself took but after a few hours he was finished. he took a picture of his work, blurred things out so the words couldn't be read and sent a picture to jiah over kakaotalk.

solo related to jihoon writing the music to love, collab-album with yuzu date: july 2021 song choice: love word count: 613 notes:

the piano was something jihoon willing stayed away from as much as he could. it wasn't really that he didn't like it, it just took hours sometimes to get into the groove of it, to know how he wanted to sounds, which keys go where. confusion was usually very much engraved in his experience with the instrument. however, he wanted to give it a go, have a song that focused on it as much as his patience allowed it. that was what he thought when he sat in front of it.

he thought wrong. he tried a few different melodies, a few different things while humming the lyrics to see what was going to fit best. to his surprise, or maybe the fact that he didn't have that much patience, he really did like all of the melodies he had thought of. quickly, while he still had the muse and the will to work, jihoon moved the keyboard away and turned to his computer. he was definitely going to decorate it with some funky pads and synths. he started doing just that, cutting up the sample. re arranging it and trying to make it into something aery and loving.

not many songs in charm had the feeling he was aiming for. he couldn't really think of any that had this feeling he was craving to show. maybe 20 was a very good example of it. however, that song was from so far ago... so so many years since he leaned into it. this song wouldn't have the heavy guitar in the background, wouldn't have rock feeling. but then jihoon remembered that he was yet to record any of the drums for this one. so the idea to fill the background with some top hats and low bass drum, instantly filled him with excitement.

it wasn't that he was burning out when it came to this album, yes, he was busy with other charm related activities, but jihoon was always excited to make music. easy songs, hard songs, song he loved, songs he absolutely despised. he had gone through everything over the years. it was as simple as finding something that he would like to add to every song that made the process somewhat bearable. it was only a matter of time and some head bashing that he would come up with a new idea of what to do with a song. he is almost 100% sure that he was only finding it difficult because he was given freedom to do whatever he wanted.

sometimes, most times, that's what he craved. to not have been  told what bc entertainment wanted from him and he could do whatever he wanted. however, the more he thought about, the more he understood that it was for the best that way. his company had a vision of what charm should look like, they  had plans, story boards, ideas, demo's even at times. jihoon was just there to carry the title of producer, lyricist and whatever else his company told him to do. even so, with all those restrictions, limitations, and frustrations, he always managed to pull through. he wasn't going to allow a single song to make him lose his creative streak. even if one was on a very good track to actually do that, love, was able to pull him through. that's how he decided to call it. love. plain and simple.

solo related to jihoon writing the lyrics to love, collab-album with yuzu date: july 2021 song choice: love word count: 618 notes:

reusing anything relate to music wasn’t something he usually did. jihoon kept trying to remind himself, that this wasn’t a charm album. this didn’t have to be a specific concept, with 6 different songs, about five topics just because. plus, he had been heavily listening to starlight more than he should have been. enough to inspire him about this lighter alternative. 

oh this is that love sure it’s that love i like everything about you

it used the same idea, the same feeling and thoughts about how much yuzu brightened up his day and all that platonic love he held for her. it came so much easier than the previous song he had worked on and in reality, he really never wanted to listen to it. if it charted well, he could handle it, but he much preferred to never listen to it again. this one however? jihoon was sure he was going to enjoy making the music for it as well. the lyrics were soft, filled with, in his humble opinion, the light feeling of happiness. the one that would be able to make your day ever so slightly brighter  by seeing that person.

that's what he wanted to convey with these lyrics. it was how someone could be sure that this was one of the most unique and maybe best feelings in the world. there were a few other ones jihoon thinks not many people could relate to, like the adrenaline rush that came with going onto the big stage, before being drowned by the realization that he had to get off. a flash in his eyes. this wasn't that feeling. this was more about how he was sure it would not be a flash in right before his eyes, that yuzu would come and go. they have had their fair shares of bullshit over the years, mainly due to jihoon's moody side and not expressing himself. he still doesn't know how to do it, writing a song about it had become something he did in order to get rid of some negativity.

that was the feeling. the feeling of having someone right next to you that would be able to make you a better person with every passing day.

i’m also thankful because you’re so precious i will be better with you

it was soft, really soft, it almost made jihoon gag at the thought that he was writing this about yuzu and his relationship. he was never the sappy type, he never got emotional, never really opened up. however, he opened up with music, and this album really was giving him the freedom to do whatever he wanted. he was doing just that. writing the duets he wouldn't be able to sing with anyone else, especially these love songs. it was somewhat easier, when you had an idea of what he wanted people to feel when he read through the lyrics, and he knew that it would help him with the music. one of the few times he had the lyrics written before the actual music of the song. however, he was sure that this way should be easier, it was always easier when it came down to songs he enjoyed. 

he had gotten up that morning, it being one of his free days to really just do whatever. maverick was doing what they had to do for the day, so they were both doing separate things for a little bit during the day. instead of being at home, duri had decided to leave the house to really just hang around on his own for a bit. he grabs one of his notebooks, just incase, before he heads out the door, and does his usual routine of popping in earbuds, before going on his way of finding something to do. simply, he really looked forward to having some relaxation after a lot of working. truly, he wondered what it was that he wanted to do, and he knew he could do as he wanted today, which he planned on doing. after a while, he had decided that he wanted to visit his uncle’s and aunt’s café - one of his favorite places to be. sat on a corner of an itaewon street, decorated so nicely outside and instead, with an aura and atmosphere that was so sweet. he had entered, greeting everyone, before holding a slice of cheesecake and getting an iced coffee. it was a rather warm day, so he had wanted to switch up his usual order. he took his things, before he’d sat down by the window. he takes pictures, before posting it on his instagram, making sure to make a suitable caption, and waited for comments to roll in. simply, it had always felt a bit odd with how this would go, and he still wasn’t sure if it was something that he was used to. but, he liked sharing things with his fans, so he was more than okay with it. however, as comments rolled in, there seemed to be a lot of complaints about café photos. however, a few of the comments had stuck out - much like a sore thumb, but in a good way. “he’s duri, he can do whatever he wants.”

it’s weird how inspiration strikes, isn’t it?

he grabs his notebook and pen, opening it up to a fresh page. the atmosphere of his uncle’s and aunt’s café, the instagram comments, what he had gotten today, and looking outside the window had seemingly hit duri with inspiration. he starts with some things that he likes, like going to the beach, or watching movies at home, under the guise of having his theatre. truth be told, it had always felt like that in a way. here, he starts the song off talking about how he can do whatever it is that he likes. simply, duri was going to really just use his current day as an inspiration for the song, it seemed like a rather good idea to him.  most mornings, maverick and duri have to have an alarm going to make sure they get out of bed - even if they didn’t have much sleep or they were awake anyways, they always had to make sure they were on time. so, he includes that in the lyrics, as well as the sound of the alarm in the form of spoken beeps. he mentions how it lingers in the ears, but this morning was one where he didn’t have a wakeup call that rushed him - a worry he didn’t have on a free day. he liked that part of the song, deciding it was time to move onto the next. 

his eyes look over the table that he’s sat at by the window, seeing the things that he ordered. he sees how he’s taken a bite out of cheesecake and have an ice coffee sat there, sweating a bit. he picked it up, taking a sip, and placing it back down. his hand gets back to writing, where he uses his spread of things as inspiration. he talks about the bite of cheesecake, as well as a full glass of coffee. he decides to talk about having it iced and how it’s something that’s relaxing. iced coffee was rather comfortable in summer, even if he was more of a hot coffee type of person. but, it seemingly made sense for the song. he moves to talk about how it’s suddenly tweleve o’clock when looking at the clock, however it’s okay because he isn’t in a rush today. it is a few day after all, he has nowhere to go, nowhere to be. he was doing what he wanted that day. he goes back to that morning, about how he yawned and stretched, as well as how he was thinking about what he was doing that day. truth be told, the possibilities were endless and he hopes people get that when listening to the song. 

his eyes look out of the window as he feels himself stuck on what to say next. sunlight is seemingly pouring into the window, warming him up from the cold air conditioning of the café. that’s when the next part hits him, deciding to talk about looking at the window, seeing past the season of summer, as well as the sunlight knocking on his heart, with a breeze taking him a way - as today held a small breeze. it made sense, considering sunlight is seemingly one of duri’s favorite things. not to mention, it made sense, as it was all about this free day, nonetheless. on the side of the page, however, duri writes notes about the clouds, as well as the atmosphere of the café, and the pretty clothes of people walking by. those were things he wasn’t using yet, as it didn’t seem to make sense yet - but, he wanted to remember those items. he moves onto what he believes to be the chorus, already having something in his mind. duri decides to refer to the free day as being a “weekend” as that seemed to make the most sense to him in the long run. so, he takes that idea to begin writing it. he talks about wanting to leave when the weekend (aka a free day) comes around and how on that day, he’s able to do what he wants - whatever his mind comes up with. he looks back at the note that he wrote down, transferring into actual words in this part, talking about being free as they move along. he decides to include the beginning of the song into the next few lines - something that he would come back to a few times, as it fit rather well. he references going on a drive - it’s something that he wouldn’t personally do, but how else do you get to the beach, right? however, he references his walk over. saying it’s okay to go on a walk, leaving everything to where his feet takes him. that was how he got here in the first place, wasn’t it? with that, he finishes the first verse and the chorus. 

his pen taps the table softly, making sure he isn’t disturbing anyone around him with it. he was doing it to put his mind into working gears, to come up with something else for the song. writing after the chorus was always a bit of a trouble, so he goes over what he already wrote to help him out. that’s when he starts writing again, this time being more about how he’s ignoring the stories of the world for just this one day because he’s doing what he wants and how he’s pulling his own day together. then he talks about there being no stress on the “weekend” and that he’s not going to worry about it anymore for the time being, it’s something that he’s moving over to the right, left, and right. it was a fun little part with the words, something that made him giggle a bit. he’s talks of going a new way, but saying he doesn’t need a map when he’s rolling the streets - to be fair, he did grow up in seoul, so he really knows where he’s going, even if he’s going somewhere that he hasn’t really been before or really explored. however, he continues to go because it’s fun, he’s continuing on up - however, he writes that in more of a fun way. 

his eyes shoot to look outside again, eyes watching the flowers across the way, with a bench nearby. that had always been a really nice sight, and seeming, it seemed to fit in after the part that he just wrote. so, he decided to write about taking a break from the sunlight, to sit on the bench for a little bit, after looking at flowers that he didn’t know - to be quite honest, he doesn’t believe he’s ever seen them before. that, or he wasn’t able to put his finger on what they were. nonetheless, it made for really nice inspiration that he was sure to use. he looked at them for a while, being sure to include that in the song itself. duri then mentions steps getting slower on the adventure, trying to catch his own shadow - showing off a bit of a playfulness, something that was probably really just lingered deep in the song. however, he keeps this pace as he walks with the sun - the star that’s really his friend in a way, whom would soon move into his nighttime friend of the moon, something that he wants to upkeep - something that he writes down. he takes the first part of the chorus, writing it down again - as it seemed like the right time to start a new chorus. 

duri takes a short break for more cheesecake and coffee - as he focused more on writing the song, rather than the things that he paid for, even when his uncle and aunt wished he wouldn’t pay for things. there’s a short time that he talks to his aunt, as she checked up on him, before the busy café whisked her away. but, before she had left to attend to duties, she leaves a tall glass of lemonade when duri doesn’t notice - she had to give her something free, just because that always made her feel better - even when duri wanted to pay for everything. he placed the empty plate that once held cheesecake to the side, as well as the empty cup that contained iced coffee. the ice cubes seemingly just melting in the sunlight. he moved the lemonade closer, before getting back to work. it was something he would sip on while working.

when thinking about plans, he really realized that there were no actual plans for the day. but, that was something that made it perfect. so, he wrote it down to start off the next part. he then talks about a secret place that he discovered, keeping his bags there to stay in the exciting place for the weekend. however, the bags are simply small, considering it was a small trip - something that he didn’t get often. he thinks upon the alley behind the café, where he talks about how something pleasant waits for him there and he’ll meet that and excitement. oddly enough, the back alley was always a place that he liked as a child, so he wanted to relate his childhood excitement into the song. not to mention, at the end of the alley has always sat an ice cream shop, so, to him, it had always been exciting. he makes a mention of his heart pounding all day, as having no plans for the “weekend” was rather exciting. his eyes look back to his notes, where he reads over what he wrote there. he decided this was time to talk about the nutty aroma in the café that day - but, instead, referencing it as a coffee shop, as it sounded better in the song. he mentions the pretty clothes that caught his eye. next, duri moves onto writing the chorus once again, the beginning of the song itself, as well as another part of the chorus. 

however, when he read it over again, something was missing from the last pre-chorus itself. which would take him a bit to think about. so, he sits back in the chair, taking sips of the icy lemonade as he thinks. then, he writes down a line “do it for the weekend,” which he writes twice. then he goes onto a next part, thinking about something. however, he realizes that he has always been the type of person to hesitate to do what he wants. so, he writes about not wanting to hesitate to do the things that he likes anymore. with that, duri was finished. so, he takes that and transfers it to somewhere cleaner, to fix any mistakes that he made, and making it cleaner. it took a bit, fixing grammar, and everything like that. but, it had finally been finished and he was happy that he took his free day, or as he was saying in the song “weekend”, to write the song. at the top, he titles the song “weekend.” 

he closes the notebook itself, and makes his way with his dishes to the kitchen, where he’d clean them. it was something that he always did. upon doing that, he’d talk with his uncle and aunt for a bit, before saying goodbyes. he’d let his feet take him somewhere else, much like the song that he just wrote.