I had to take a few seconds break after I read the book. It was different with that time I’d finished Demian. With Demian it mostly questions and the unsatisfying feelings because it had ended in an unexpected place. But it was good; Demian was good. It was a mixed thought about freedom, seeking the truth, and controlling yourself. With Demian you would get the feeling about being yourself as a whole, and how you would get that trough knowing yourself. Well, it’s not a feeling; it is what Demian supposed to taught you.
Yet, Demian is not the book for everyone. I myself got a quite hard time understanding the book. It was beautiful; the book, but if you are not patient enough, you will not get the beauty of it. And it is different with this book about which I am talking right now.
I think I already live in lies for too long. Or maybe it is actually acquired in real life? I think I was trained to pretend so much until I didn’t know what is my actual intention. It is easy to talk to someone and pretend that you are truly care about them, and ignore them later. I did that too much, until finally when someone about which I really care come around, I don’t know what to do to keep them. Someone in the back of my head repeatedly tells me to be aware; to be cautious to everything. It anxious me. What if this person -the one which I really care- leaves me like I did to everyone else? What if it’s something like a karma? And thanks to that, up until today I don’t have anyone who I actually consider as my best-best friend.
Last night I dreamed about you again, for the first time in this month. I don’t really know why you appeared in my dream again, since we have no actual interaction in these past months. Legend says that when you dreamed about someone, that someone is missing you. I hope it is true, then. I hope you miss me as much as I miss you. Oh, I feel so embarrassed when I typed that.
based on this post on tumblr
“Be happy, okay?” he said as he beamed ear to ear, totally oblivious to his surrounding. His eyes were fixated only to the boy opposite him, who wore an old black glasses, but he didn’t mind the slightest about that.
“What do you mean by that,” the opposite boy whispered. “We’ve lost our everything.”
“At least you still have me.”
It was the new year night. The gunshot was concealed by the sounds of fireworks. It was classic; nobody would hear that, nobody would notice the difference. Even though it was night, he barely needed his torch. The sky was full with fireworks, one after another, blasting in the middle of nothingness. It was beautiful, but he barely saw it. He was busy crying after the dead body.
His glasses were reflecting the firework’s color. Red, green, red, blue. They were flashing one by one, like the colored spotlight on the stage. This was indeed a stage, he thought. This was the stage when the main character was dead, and he himself was both the villain and the victim. He killed this body, but he mourned it as well.
Have you ever think about dangerous thing? Like, how will it feels when you slammed your body to the road, or how will your fingers will survive if you drag your hands while your motorcycle is running. Have you?
Maureen lifted her tote bag, it was heavy on her left hand. Her right one felt like burning. She stared at her right palm for the God knows how many times. The red lines were still visible. Even though the scars were slowly healing, she still can felt the, yes, burn, and she, somehow, satisfied.
She just cut her right palm, one right below her thumb, made long lines across her palm; one on her middle finger’s side; one on the pinky finger. With a fresh and clean razor blade, of course. She couldn’t deal with tetanus or something similar.
What if everyone wants to die? The thought emerged in Luce’s mind. He just saw one of the youngsters died this noon; hit by a large deep blue container truck, and flawlessly burst into sakura petals.
It was abnormally beautiful, if he set aside the hit-and-run accident and the death of that kid as well. It was like a scene in those animated movie; his head was turning into sakura petals right when the kid’s head hit the truck. His whole body followed afterward.
Jungkook is lost. On one very late night he finds himself awake, starring at the ceiling with wide eyes open, fighting back the urge to cry. He sighs in discomfort, can’t help feeling the battle of his mind and his heart draining his energy down. Jungkook has known that this matters are taking up his mind and energy, but he can’t help it. He can’t restrain himself to not fall in love once again.
Taehyung is life. He is sunshine, he is everything. Every time he is around, his surroundings seems like brighten up a bit. He makes everyone laughs with his jokes. He makes the leaves dance with his movement. Taehyung does a lot of thing to perks up the world. A little bit more to makes Jungkook’s world alive.
I stare at my reflection. When I smile, she smiles. When I frown, she frowns. When I point the gun’s tip to my head, she does it too. And then there is blood running down our face, like honey dripping down from the bee’s nest. It is blue, not red, and when I push my index finger into the hole, it lets out the blue blood intensely.
The blue blood is making such a messy mess in this room. But it adds the colour. This room is lacking of colour. The wall is white, and the bed is too, and the lamp, and everything. The only coloured thing inside this room is me, and my blood now.
When the first snow fell, Misha the Dragon was in his big but comfy cave. He somehow managed to get his place’s warm enough for himself. After adjusting his tail, Misha began to sleep since it’s night time already.
That was when he hear a rustling sound near him.
Misha didn’t keep a pet, no. He was -is- a good dragon, and he didn’t eat friends. So, where was this sound came from?