October and Jeongguk

wrote this sometime during the end of October 2020 while trying to cram what human rights processes there were which proved to be! Absolutely useless. but that’s okay at least it made me tired enough to produce this brain vomit. October proved to be the month of ghosts, although I wish it wasn’t so predictable. and this doesn’t actually have anything to do with jeongguk, just wanted to make it less personal and you were the first one that must’ve come to mind, sorry jeongguk.
.
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Jeongguk does not know who he is supposed to be.
Jeongguk doesn't feel anything these days.
He is not writing in his notebook like he usually does anymore. October passes by on tip-toes and he still doesn't. feel. A thing. it's been raining a lot recently, which he thinks feels nice almost, almost. He listens to mirrorball and tries to feel something; like homecoming or dancing or some shit – but he just sits back down on the wooden chair and leans his cheek against the back of it. staring outside at the rain. At the world, at the trees that sway on their roots, wants to know what it feels like to be so firm. So solid. So peaceful and beautiful and ignorant.
Jeongguk sighs and turns looks at his revision notes spread out on the marbled table. Wills himself to pick up his pen and tune his thoughts to the parliamentary scrutiny act and the international bill of human rights spread out on the marbled table.
Article 1: You have the right to not have a conscience.
Article 2: You have the right to life.
Article 3: You have the right to not feel a thing.
At least he is trying. at least article 2 is real. So this is what people do. they go outside and marvel and when they come home, come someplace quiet, they realize that something is missing but they never find it. they never find it. they never know what. they just continue to live, because this is what people do. this is what Jeongguk does. it's the only thing he can do to stop himself from gently sinking. He always wondered how he would leave - would it be soft and quiet like the existence he's lived so far, or would he explode and spiral into the nucleus of life? Address my limitations, he thinks. Address my limitations. he gets up from his spot where he's been spending most of his time in the last three days at and walks to his room. He feels the walls inside his home touching his ribcage and it barely hurts but it's so quiet. It's so quiet. there needs to be sound for it to feel semi-decent. Semi-conscious; semi-okay, he plugs in his beautiful, blue electric guitar and strums the chords to the song he just learned yesterday. It's still a bit wobbly, and definitely needs practicing, but it's somewhere. It's somewhere, and that's something. (something that Jeongguk is not). the room is dark it hurts his eyes but he likes it like that, and if he's being honest he wants to be cool. Jeongguk plays gently, fingers strumming carefully, muscle memory taking over before anything else. Muscle memory. I would die for you. my body would insist, and I would cave, and you wouldn't be surprised because it's something you've known your whole life.
Jeongguk plays, and plays, and tries to feel something except for the string digging into the tips of his fingers. Wants to call his friends, but he doesn't. just, it's hard and everyone lives so far away it's better staying home. alone? no, not that word. Not that word again. He's not lonely. Just wants someone to tell him that he's doing a good job, to remind him what his favorite pair of socks is, to tell him something about themselves. wants to be able to keep something, something he can listen to and remember and hold close to his chest like an ocean to a world, that's what he tells himself- and that's what he will believe.
He had an odd dream this morning, and it made him feel disorientated when he woke up. made him believe he had a red guitar instead, and does that mean something, if anything at all? he shakes his head and thinks / should've dreamt about you by now. of course, what he means is I miss you and I wish I dreamt of you.
Two dreams in a month and they were bad because in them, he saw him again and his heart hurt there too. His hands didn't stop shaking there too. he was a coward there, too. that's okay, just a dream; Jeongguk wakes up. he's 23. What does he do? what is he doing? what is there to do? is he getting there? He wishes the house wasn't so empty all the damn time. Somebody has to wash the dishes in the sink. His friends are stupid. He can't wait to leave this place; tells himself maybe he's looking at all the wrong places. Maybe he's not trying hard enough. the rain gets louder, filling the cavities in his heart slowly - drip, drip, drown, don't you fall asleep, and puncture your finger. Don't you give up on yourself, as they did? jeongguk doesn't know if he can do it.
He goes to sleep, and he dreams of a world where it rains all the time that isn't so quiet.