9th July — Moussy

9th July

I once thought,

“I want to age while staying true to my beliefs.”

But when it turned 21:30,

misery struck me quietly and completely.

Some revelations are like lightning strikes—

they freeze you in place.

S sent me a Christmas letter from Melbourne.

Reading it on the subway ride home,

I felt tears welling up.

There’s something undeniably elegant

about someone who’s walked close to death.

That was Nina Bauschman on my mind.

But that thought… feels wrong.

I’m ashamed.

Ashamed of everything,

especially my own disgust.

It’s a secret only I held—untold, unspoken.

The only thing I’m not ashamed of is love.

Sometimes I feel I was born just to love.

It’s beautiful at times,

but now I wish it would stop.

I hope my love stops growing.

Because without a single ray of sunlight,

those weeds of love have grown to my ankles—

tying my Achilles, holding me back—

so I can’t help feeling this way.

The more I speak of hate,

the more hateful things become.

The more I name what I dislike,

the more it settles into me.

K once said,

“Nothing matters anymore—that’s why it’s freeing.”

Her words hit me like lightning too,

right before the steady downpour.

I don’t have a magnum opus—

but if, as S said,

I can find even a little more freedom one day,

then I guess I didn’t intend to be so extreme.

I didn’t want to get pulled in by a title like “Love of the Extremist.”

I didn’t want to empathize

with shattered souls ruined by living at extremes.

Yet…

I love you.

Still—

Leave before the car bursts into flames.

당신은 언제 노래가 되지 / 허연

scanned sketchbook, 2024

The Last Day of 2023

9th July

Feb - Between Mental Illness and Kindness

Ruminations

05:48