Someone Show Jeongguk This

someone show jeongguk this

K.E.N-Digit: ‘Hand Signs of Love’ (2019)

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“We… need to forgive ourselves… for all the things we didn’t do. All the things we should have done. You can’t get stuck on the regrets of what should have happened.”

— Mitch Albom

something has died within me.

I awake in knotted sheets and dim lighting to the decayed scent but can’t identify its source.

I get up to look in the mirror but I look all the same, just as always.

I tug on the corner of my mouth and peer down the cave of it. Not a clue in sight. No sense to grasp. Only pink gums and crooked teeth. An animated tongue.

I don’t laugh the same - not in the way that would make my belly sore and cheeks sting. Not in the way tears would bead down the inner corners of my eyes. But rather, a hollow little thing with the shake of a head as if in surrender. Pre-emptive sadness; it’ll pass.

I don’t dream the same. Rather at the slightest notion of a new aspiration, I draw a blade and cull it at its source, like a pesty weed. Save myself the disappointment of yet another unfulfilled desire.

The only thing I crave these days, I lust for, more than love or companionship, is money. Endless amounts of it. For security and freedom. I decided not to be happy unless I become rich enough to kick back and not have to work a forced day in the remainder of life.

Some nights I cry in grief of the old me, and hold certainty that I’ll never be her again. I cry but there’s no grave for me to visit. I am the grave. I wrap myself in ash, douse the scent of decay onto the sides of my neck. Hug my limp body and drift into sleep, where I’m no one and everything all at once.

I wake to dread I have not died yet. Dread the continuation of this physical life when otherwise I’ve declared myself dead.