note: I don't want to post this because it's not really finished and it's kind of dead but here it is and uh yeah. I dunno. it IS finished, but yeah. not really. and yeah. this is what happens when I try to write something kind of serious but not really and yeah. yah. this is on tumblr, too. the reason I refuse to post this is because (1) this makes no sense, and (2) fail!ending is so fail, it makes me want to cry. but I want it here so it's with my other writings LOL

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motion sickness (as the world around me blurs, you stand still)
|| the world is moving too fast (or maybe it's just me), but somehow you’re right here the entire time, a hand clutched tight around mine, a promise of forever.

Yesterday. It was yesterday that they gathered us, telling us that we would debut, except not really. We’d be an experiment, they said, something along those lines. A rotational group, if I remember correctly. We get a year, one album, one try. Then we’re done, recycled, gone.

A lot of things happened yesterday. How was it that in one day we went from nothing to something to everything and then back to nothing? It was one day, right? It feels like it. I remember someone beside me, his hand warm and sticky and sweaty but completely comforting, holding me the entire time. He squeezes softly to tell me it’s still yesterday.

But today is today.

And here he is, tired and older and happier and sadder and changed. I ask him what happened in that one day, and he said everything. A flashback of dances, cries, thank you’s, fan chants, roaring crowds play, the backtrack a soft medley of songs I know at heart. Initials are engraved in the back, like a watermark of ownership, and it spells out E.L.F. The name is familiar, but the face is blurred.

I ask the boy beside me - wait, he’s no longer a boy. He’s a man, that’s right. He’s tired, too, but I’ve gone over this. I ask who E.L.F. is, and he tells me E.L.F. is a memory. I ask if I want to remember E.L.F., but he only looks on.

I decide I want to remember.

So he tugs on my hand and pulls me forward, out of this dreamlike stance, and we’re back on stage, even for a moment. I see the faces, know the names, and hear the screams. I look on in awe, but he just stares with a small smile on his face.

What happened? I ask.

Everything, he says.

Then we’re back to reality, and he’s still holding on. I wonder why he’s still here, when the shadows of other fallen stars are just that - shadows. Why is he still here? Why is he still holding on? I move to let go, but he holds on tight, and I now see the tears in his eyes.

What happened? I ask again.

Life, he says this time.

And that’s just that. We were yesterday everything, and today nothing, and it was all a blur of memories I want to forget yet keep and live in. He is the only reminder I have that it existed once upon a time, and I squeeze once more to make sure he actually is here.

He is.

Around me, the world moves quickly, and everything is just blurs and sounds I cannot recognize. But somehow his hand is intertwined with mine the entire time, and he’s right in from of me, the only thing constant in this changing world.

And then I press play, and we’re back to now.

“Donghae, dinner is ready.”

I look up, and our eyes meet. His bony hand is over my wrinkled one, and I smile softly.

“Thank you.”