by The Dreamer
Today I went out with Kim and Carmen to film something exciting. In the end we just ended up drafting a plot. I liked it. I liked how we were huddled in those large sofa chairs. I liked it when the barista called out my name. I liked that we were brainstorming for something not for acadamics and to finally be able to explore my hobby.
We walked aimlessly around the mall afterward. I liked touching things I couldn’t afford. I liked scouring through male apparal and imagining myself in those oversized shirts. I liked dissolving in the crowds and losing myself for awhile.
I cried a little on the train ride back home. The book I was reading – Love Letters to the Dead – was a depressing but magical book, making me feel this fluttery feeling in my chest, like paper moths rattling in my ribcage. I felt overwhelmed and cried but I liked the feeling very much. I was also listening to mellow korean songs. The fact that I didn’t understand the lyrics made them more poetic and beautiful and sad. I suddenly recalled Kim’s words about how she was craving for romance. I decided I was too. I wanted to feel the paper moths overcome me because of a boy, and not because of fiction.
Now I’m in the car and I’m afraid. The sky is dark with the tint of night and the streetlamps have flickered on. It’s too dark to read anymore and I feel nauseous slightly because of car sickness and because the girl in the book is acting strange and I need to digest the feelings I am experiencing with her. So I stopped reading. We passed through a highway. The trees beside us have become shadows. This morning something strange overtook me and I had the sudden impulse to text my mother. I told her I loved her. I did it with hesitation but I decided that I should text her in case I regretted not doing so later. Thoughts and what ifs popped into my head, like what if there was no later? I don’t know why I did it and it made me scared because it felt like those impulses you get to do something different before we die. I’m suddenly scared about death. The stupid book makes me feel all these stupid emotions and I love but hate them.
It feels foreign to pen down my feelings again. It feels foreign to have so much time on my hands.