It's been 7 years.

I'd like to say "I'm moving on", but that would be a lie. I'm still not sure how those words can come out of those who have grown up with them and given them so much of themselves. Directly or indirectly, it's a little more personal than just that.

I knew in the back of my mind that they would have gone out without a bang. I imagined small news being leaked bit by bit until we were numb to these blows, and then... we would've just grown up. Grown out of this painlessly, maybe wistfully, but no bitterness, no sadness, just a lingering nostalgia for what used to be. I've grown out of a lot of fandoms this way, but this... not this time. I don't know what it is about them that I can't let go of. I want some kind of closure, something more than empty promises. It's the same kind of closure the rest of us are looking for. I wish you had my answers.

We're still playing the waiting game, half a year later. It's nice to see optimism, and people leaning on literal translations, picking on those specific words such as "temporary suspension". Secretly, we all know already. It's been too long, so long that you'd think we'd be okay with this. It still hurts like a bitch, though.

Be happy. You don't have to be 동방신기, or 김준수 박유천 김재중 심창민 정윤호 in that order, or Asia's top stars, or conquer the world, or be perfect. Just don't forget each other. And most of all, don't forget those promises you've made to each other onscreen and behind the camera. 5-1=0, regardless of a label behind your names.

I won't move on to another group, and I'm probably taking a bit of a break from k-ent (tbh, I already have been...), but I won't forget. I just want the best for you. If things fix themselves and we can go back in time to 2004, I would probably burst into song. If not, well. I still love you. Thanks for the amazing memories.



Lastly,

Q. If DBSK breaks up, what will you want to do?
Yunho: If that does happen, I will gather my members again. As the leader.

I'm holding you onto that, leadersshi.

you know those days where you feel like you can just slow down and enjoy life? yeah.

it's funny, because i have my biochem textbook open in front of me with tons to memorize, and the impending (possibly suppressed) panic of an upcoming lab final, but despite all that, i have never felt calmer this quarter. i am so behind in all of my work, but for some inexplicable reason, here i am, sitting and typing and feeling like nothing can stop me. the silence of this apartment is nice, for once.

things always come out prettier in words than they really are. i think it's because it'd be too boring to just describe what we see. what we end up doing is writing out emotions that go along with it. i'm not sure if that's a good thing. on one hand, it makes things more intriguing when some perspective is put on it. on the other hand, we're not technically telling the truth, are we?

too philosophical. that ties into society in more ways than i want to elaborate on/think about right now. kills the magic of this post.

i'm not quite sure why i'm updating this. i fear this DW is becoming more of a blog than a writing journal. which is slightly upsetting, but relieving at the same time. it makes me feel like i've started over. although, i think i'm internally having a hard time letting go of LJ. it holds too many memories, and even the measly updates my old friends make occasionally doesn't make up for all the changes that fandom has experienced. everyone in the communities are much younger now, more interested in groups i would never even bother with. without the boys, things have changed so much on my (our) side of LJ. a lot of my friends have left, and a lot of them are now too preoccupied with college and real life to keep up with a diminishing fandom. at one point, thoughts of this day would've made me cry, but now that the boys really are fading into the background, i think i'm going to be okay.

so, this is where we are now.

today, i saw some random pictures on facebook and realized that some in the class of 2004 (high school) have already gotten married. and for a moment, i was taken aback. but after i thought about it, they would be around the marrying age. 24, right? only four years older than me (us). it's crazy to think that, because 4 years isn't as long as we make it out to be. look at how quickly our 4 years of high school have flashed by. and now we're already (almost) halfway through college. insanity. so where are we going to be 4 years into the future? getting married? graduating (once again)? working a steady job? typical expectations, right? but what if we end up on the other side of the fence? thoughts, thoughts, but too many of them.

already two decades in this world, and i think i just grew up a little more today.

[the beginning]

Angels fall when we're not watching.

You see, our story is not that simple. There is a fundamental gap in our memories we cannot bridge. We dream of wings and feathers, and wake up to blank walls. Sing of heaven on earth and close our eyes before sinners. Touch the hearts of those we love and break the hearts of those we abandon in our haste to save ourselves from reality. We are selfish, you see. We are human.

Sometimes, so are they.

thirty seconds before 12am, and the clocks are
freezing again--

there's too much fog on
the windows to see out, much too perfect to
even touch,
it's just our stuck-up curiosity lingering in
shadowed corners leftover from
yesterday's latest break.up--
they're phenomenal in the best possible ways
disillusioned from already-leaked secrets,
and the world outside is too late
anyway.

there's a little orphan girl across the street,
selling matchsticks for money;
she leans against frozen lampposts to catch
her
breath, (cold against the winter air)
she dreams of opaque windows blinded by
warmth and heat, but--
it's our fogged windows she cannot see through
and our locked doors she doesn't step through
but our latest sins are too strong
even for those glass windows.

we're sipping lukewarm poison in front of
the fireplace,
taking life for granted in our most
favorite ways while
the little girl
falls
asleep
as her last match burns out.

a/n. trying something new. rhymes in the most disjointed way, atonal in the least expected phrase, almost like the best kind of contemporary music. hehe♥ thoughts?

there are days when she remembers to stop and just think, maybe about the way nostalgia is imprinted in negative film. memories in picture form, but more surreal than words on paper.

( it's the sunny days that make it hard. )

maybe things are a little better on
the other side of the bridge, but
each time is
not the same--

there are some days where we'll
lay in the grass side-by-side and
look up into the sky as if
those clouds will paint
tomorrow's story.
these are colors too white to describe,
shapes too ambiguous to decide--
you'd say, that hesitance is
tomorrow's history.
as if the world is at your feet
and you have nothing to lose.

so we let go.

tomorrow we'll drive by mcdonalds on
unnamed roads to unknown cities with
nothing but the clothes on our backs
and the wind in our ears.
the music is
playing louder now, and that beat
is ingrained in our hearts.
it'll be freedom in a way we've never imagined
half-hearted risks we've never taken,
fogged up windows and crookedly-drawn hearts
in the nostalgia of tomorrow's history.

it's just the wind, now, with silent lips.

in these dreams, she writes with emotions
(not the twenty-six alphabets),
about a sentimentality
inexpressable.
they hold her down by the arms
on cold, metal tables and shine on her
lights warm enough to break through
any nightmare. but--

leather straps are much softer against
raw, raw skin and so she
falls deeper into the dream she doesn't want
to wake from. they're breathing.

--it's not a nightmare, she whispers
but nothing comes out other than
those unwritten emotions.

they're breathing nicotine all over her
body, and stand admiring
gray smoke and white skin.
in their eyes, these are colors of the
rainbow,
more beautiful than
sin.

i hope this doesn't become a daily habit, because that'll be really annoying. although, i'm most definitely sure i think too much.

well anyway, before i forget, ( in the case of prose vs. ...unprose (not poetry!) )

it's the adrenaline at work, says goldilocks, in the
midst of this pandemic, and the brothers grimm suddenly
the epitome of placebo-pill-endings.
they're checking their reflections in polished leather boots and
doing last-minute touchups on those semi-automatics.
it's not truly a war and not truly a battle, maybe as real as
the tales of three blind mice.

they remember the rules of the game and still
come home in body bags.

as if anger can make words bleed—

it’s the early morning sentimentality that simmers
behind her eyes, while she breathes in
and out, one breath
after another.
she’s not as perfect as
silent china dolls,
far from fixed
porcelain faces,
and maybe a little more broken up inside. she’s
inferior in every way, incompetent in every case,
hates clichés and lives in one, pretending
that anger can cut like knives—

as if.