alexithymia
subclinical phenomenon involving a lack of emotional awareness or, more specifically, difficulty in identifying and describing feelings and in distinguishing feelings from the bodily sensations of emotional arousal
. . .
"𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨...
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. . .
the sun seemed to rise and then fall faster than she could breath, and every night was just her and the moon, the stars that shone through the translucent glass. the soothing veil of velvet that wrapped around her body everytime she closed her eyes to just think of her journey, one that no teenage girl could call normal
a lone lamp illuminated her pages and pages that began to look like illusions of government papers, her reality becoming a perfectly unwanted facade. it was a ball that rolled along an endless plain, no stops no starts, just one line. her reality was a standard, but not an ideal.
she lived for the danger
yet she sat in an empty library with a dim orange light that casted a warm hue onto her hands. her writing seemed sloppier and sloppier, yet the same code would repeat in her head without stop
2S1RA53
her mind kept clouding with thoughts of a gang that caused blood shed and war, something she wasn't cut out for.
her eyes flickered down the jumble of letters and numbers
"19, 20, 1, 8, 19, 8, 9, 16" an idea clicked "starship...oh my god"
writing the letters S T A R S H I P down on her book, then proceeding to write down the corresponding numbers of 19, 20, 1, 8, 19, 8, 9, 16. though, something still seemed off.
"a code wouldn't be 12 digits long would it?" she muttered to herself
"it wouldn't" a voice cut her off, a body situated in front of her. her eyes tweaked upwards, it was a surprise she hadn't rolled her eyes yet
"looks like someone cares now" she leant back in her seat, her arms folded over
"i've always cared" chenle responded, pushing a bottle of warmed up milk in front of her. he remember when she was working with jisung back at the base, she would always have this specific brand of milk with her on late nights.
"sure" she closed her notebook, packing up her stuff to stand up
"what's going on?" chenle asked almost softly. he was getting generally concerned, and she was beginning to give in.
"sometimes i wonder whether your work is more important than your relationship" she looked him straight in the eye, and then took heavy steps away, leaving the bottle untouched.
chenle dropped his head backwards, his eyes closing in frustration. he had thought he had balanced it out pretty well, but maybe his visions were different from reality. his eyes trained on the white liquid that swished around carelessly confined in the glass
was he really confined to the person he is?
. . .
the paper he had taken from her notebook lay in his hand, slotted neatly into a plastic pocket. truth was, he had already transferred the information into his computer, but he kept the sheet nonetheless. any belonging of hers made him happy.
