I AM WAITING, ALWAYS WAITING, in the way one might wait for a storm to break, to feel the air split open and fill with lightning. There’s a quiet ache here, a hollowness that sits inside my ribs, soft and familiar, as though I were born with it. It’s that same emptiness I’ve felt tracing through my days, like a thread winding through the hours, binding me to something I cannot name. Sometimes I think I could reach out, and if I reached far enough, my fingers would brush against it—whatever it is—that I’ve been searching for all this time. But it’s always just out of reach, just beyond the edges of sense, dissolving into shadow the moment I draw near. And the moon, with her pale, indifferent face, stares back as if to say, What you seek isn’t yours to find. There’s a cruelty in it, a kind of quiet mockery, as if the universe itself conspires to keep the heart tethered, always reaching, never resting.
@YujjinAn seems to know this ache, its waves rolling endlessly, endlessly, as if it too is bound by some law of unfulfillment, trapped in this cycle of seeking and retreating. it is only me, here beneath the moon, staring into the dark with a strange, feral hope—a hope that seems both absurd and necessary. And I know, even as I wait, that the emptiness is likely all there is, that perhaps the moon was right all along. But for now, I stand here, listening to the sea and pretending, if only for tonight, that something might answer back.
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