#pollvtedtime

playlist starters: ACCEPTING!

playlist starters: ACCEPTING!        📼 — » congratulations by winnetka bowling league

it’s a rare day off for jiwon, one that he’s split between killing time at the dance studio and petting every stray cat he can find while walking around the neighbourhood. his doctor would be disappointed to hear that he’s been on his feet since seven in the morning, but his therapist would be over the moon to know he hasn’t been cooped up in his flat all day. since he only has to impress one of them, jiwon considers the day well spent even if the beginnings of a flare-up are trickling down his leg. annoying, but not unbearable.

the peak of the afternoon finds jiwon in the park, hair tied back in what his friends affectionately call a sprout. maybe one day it’ll be a proper ponytail. a petite malle hangs from one shoulder, but he pulls it off after glancing at the long, long row of stairs leading down to the lake. he’s been walking long enough today, so what harm could there be in taking a shortcut? tossing the bag down the hill, he watches it tumble all the way to the bottom, then lays on the grass to log-roll his way down as well. by the time he lands at the foot of the hill, sprawled out with grass in his hair and dandelions in his sweater, jiwon can’t stop laughing. even when he finds a familiar face looking his way, he continues to giggle and pushes himself to sit upright.

[ from here! ]              

              ☾ * /   it was an entirely correct statement -- that much abel was certain of without an inch of doubt in the cogs of his brain beginning to stutter over his thoughts like the instructor had just tossed pebbles into them -- but how it connected to him was an entirely other and somewhat unnerving story that he had no desire to fully delve into. he wasn’t amazing at viewing himself from the inside out, a third person point of view so much simpler to connect to and understand without consequence of the aftereffects digging so deeply down it would certainly bring back up memories like smoke from a burning coal mine, but the elevator was jammed and he wasn’t about to go messing with the wires just because this man wanted to strike up such a divulging conversation. no, he wasn’t going to spill his guts like a coward begging for mercy at the feet of the god he betrayed and his dramatic form of allowing his head to dip and the bill of his hat to cover the down-cast of his eyes was the prelude to the beginnings of denial.

             ☾ * /   or perhaps he has come to fully accept it. “ more like i think i fucked up the one i was given. “ deep voice, somber in the way it was accented by the lightest of muffle and echo when the rim of his glass met his lips and brought more tea to his tongue now that it had cooled to a temperature that wouldn’t burn him so quickly. he wasn’t entirely sure if his words would have a truthful affect on the topic being dropped or if it would just urge the same simple words of care and comfort, the quiet hushing his mother gave him as if it pained her to hear him so upset about the matter or the rough hands on his shoulder blades while his dad mumbled that it was just part of life -- you live and you learn. he hadn’t known him for long enough, hadn’t observed with many notes in a metaphorical journal and understood fully the weight the other carried other than the hints of a limp in his leg and this sadness in his eyes like he could break down crying at any moment with the right phrase.

            ☾ * /   because truthfully people were easy to read if you looked and even easier if they didn’t see you looking. he knew there was regret, but not how in the hell he reacted to other people’s regret in the same sense.

jiwon is nosy by nature. as a child, he once woke at two in the morning and dressed himself in two padded coats to tag along with his father to the harbour. he had fallen asleep on the drive there, lulled back into his interrupted dreams by the deep, rumbling hum of an engine older than he had been at the time. even the static of tyres rolling on and on and on was calming in spite of the familiar bumps and dips in the road. come three o’clock, jiwon woke once more to the rhythmic tumult of waves and peckish (sleepless) gulls. fueled by sheer curiosity, he boarded the fishing boat while holding his father’s rough, gloved hand and dutifully sat on an ice box between two taller stacks of empty crates. jiwon wanted to know why his father got to sleep while he was away at school, why his mother prepared lunch boxes filled to the brim yet his father would only finish eating them when he came home at noon. he got his answer that day, amongst the constant spray of salt in the air and a chill so steadfast he felt like he would shiver right out of his clothes. after that day, jiwon never again complained about his father sleeping through the weekend instead of helping him build castles in the sand.

rather than know, jiwon wants to understand. so he pokes and prods, gently, to unravel the stories tangled all around him. the parents of the students he tutors smile and give more generously when he masks the accent of his seaside hometown. his boss at the dance studio inquires less about jiwon’s leg when he joins the staff during their lunch break. his therapist doesn’t ask how he slept the previous night when he comes to their sessions in jeans rather than sweats. understanding makes life easier, quieter.

          ┈• the  silence  was  a  heavy  thing,  one  that  dampened  the  air  and  caused  TAOJIN’s  oversized  clothing  to  stick  to  his  bones  in  an  unappealing  way.  it  pressed  down  on  his  shoulders  until  his  collarbones  cracked,  forcing  his  breathing  to  become  shallow  and  his  vision  to  sway  unsteadily  as  he  struggled  to  remain  within  his  broken  form,  a  being  so  obviously  just  holding  his  soul  in  place  despite  its  clear  opposition.

          fingernails,  cracked,  shaking,  desperate  in  their  attempt  to  find  hold  on  even  the  most  insubstantial  of  comforts.  it  was  a  sort  of  rumble  from  deep  within  that  refused  to  let  him  forget  who  he  was,  refused  to  let  him  slip  into  a  better  mindset  and  forget  about  the  ghosts  in  his  ears.  it  caused  pencils  to  tremble  and  lines  to  become  wobbly,  tea  to  spill  and  words  to  become  indecipherable  on  pages.  it  was  a  constant  reminder  of  the  sickness  that  took  up  residence  inside  of  him,  and  left  little  room  for  him  to  enjoy  himself.