applied romanticism
381w | mark (got7) + wendy (red velvet)

sometimes, mark just imagines he’s a point in the far off distance and listens. he’s not here, not really. he’s just a pair of eyes, some ears, maybe a forehead, maybe a face. just a mind suspended in time and space. just listening.

i don’t get it, she tells him, honest, trying to get it. she, wendy, is sentences and syntax and words, so many words – strung together and chopped up, diced in a blender, but they still slide off her tongue like something sticky but languid in its stickiness. honey, he would say if he was in the mood to be one of those cliché poetic types. today, he’s not.

also today: she is trying to get it, get him. there are just some things you will never get, no matter how broken down the idea becomes, no matter how spelled-out it is. sentences, syntax, and words won’t obey this conjecture, won’t obey the silence.

he likes listening to her talk. first and foremost, the basic part of him underlying it all, the foundation, he likes to listen. but with her, simple things maybe aren’t so simple though she intended them to be. she’s always revising – chopped up, strung together, diced in a blender words – threading the needle a stitch more then pulling the entire patchwork apart and working on it once more, over and over. the foundation, this foundation he is tethered to may be like those cliché poetic types. phone conversations until four in the morning, why are we still even up, i don’t even know what i’m talking about anymore. that’s ok, he says and it’s like romanticism, maybe the American kind, when people thought about thinking with their feelings. he says it, it’s like romanticism. he doesn’t know why he made the connection but the needle threads that stitch – and there, he’s there, part of the patchwork.

maybe tomorrow: sticky but languid in its stickiness. the remaining adhesion when you rip off a band aid, he might say, fancying himself a point in the far off distance in relation to her. displacement, deixis, maybe they’re pointing at each other. just a moment suspended in time and space, just faded background noises in the static of an unprofessionally-shot video.

just a hand, her hand, keeps him here.

reflection symmetry and the caffeinated mind
665w | lay/yixing (exo) + hani/heeyeon (exid)

on the first and only thunderstorm of the winter, ahn heeyeon was into a colorless world as a three-mirror kaleidoscope. be it as it may, no one knew exactly how to see the colors, rods and cones would not compute red to indigo to violet or any of the in-betweens. sometimes she would blink after staring long at a white light and just see darkness, total darkness, burned into her vision.

ah, she would say silently to herself. so t