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9:40 pm Seoul
Darkness consumes. Shoots webs through and across her dismal room. I could lose my mind in a state like this - lose faith in light, in hope. Hope for clarity. As in clear air and simpler thoughts. Thoughts made simpler, simply because life was that. Simple. Easy. But -- there is nothing easy about this. In fact, my stomach is proof of it. Tightly knotted, tangled in trouble. Lacking any sense of ease. Only sensing the opposite, the irrevocable type of un-ease.
Uneasy. Un -
Oh, my mind clicks to the word doom. What a revelation. What a word to come to mind.
Doom.
Which by google, is defined as; death, destruction, or some other terrible fate. My stomach feels that.
Death.
She feels like that.
Death.
Hunched, knees up and wrapped by her own stiff arms. Sitting like a child, at the edge of her bed. She wears white socks, jeans and a bra. Her shoes, top and jumper scattered across the floor, sharing a curved path. A story of haze and unbalance. Like drunk evidence, like the wicked morning after, like 5am on a Sunday, like yesterday was worth celebrating.
But this isn't that.
No night out or too much liquor has interfered with this sober house. She's not coming down, she just is. Down. So far down I can hardly feel her. And that - goddammit that scares me, because goddammit I always can. Always have. Always sense her when she's near, feel her before I see her. All that crazy stuff that I tell myself is ours - is mine and hers - our love. It's because of our love that has me feeling like a fucking x-man, sensing her and shit.
Shit.
Fuck
Oh Jesus, the unorthodox to this romance has me swearing. Cussing through the uncomfortable. But I mean, she's so close, right there...and yet...I feel nothing.
As if she isn't really. As if she isn't here.
I pause for a moment, expose my sleeve so she feels my heart and hope it comforts, even if the slightest. And then I move, picking up each item as I go. Tidying, folding and neatly placing to the side of her bed.
