Jumping around the age of thirty # Perhaps the last time jump roping for this bro in his 20s # Besides, it’s on a footbed sheet # The flow while you’re enduring it is really bad # But I laugh at this person no matter how many times I see it # Lovely Tai-chan # Leader # In his twenties # He is also going to be 30 next month # He doesn’t look like it at all #He’s releasing a photobook collection for his birthday # Please buy it. # I’m sorry for digressing from the first subject of jump roping
A/N: the last part will probably be called “finally” from how i feel abt this trilogy coming to an end HAHA. sorry this fic is really short btw qq i’ll try to bump it up for the next ^^
[11:29 PM] Jimin:is requesting a video call…
[11:30 PM] You:missed a video call from Jimin.
Three months have passed since the accidental encounter with Park Jimin, your cyber fuck buddy. You would have never guessed that a random stranger from a dumb online game would grow the slightest ounce of significance in your life; then again, perhaps you just got lucky.
[11:30 PM] Jimin: wtf are you doing, don’t you want to see my face?
[11:32 PM] You: We have thirty minutes till midnight and i want to sleep
[11:32 PM] Jimin: well i just want to see you
[11:33 PM] You: ur literally seeing me tomorrow. leave me alone omfg
It isn’t a lie that you are going to hop on a short plane ride to see him in person after viewing his face through a small screen for months. Honestly, the few months of phone sex and dirty texts lost their excitement and thrill. So, like every time before, Jimin pressed on the fact that you should see him.
And after giving the same response of “no” for a while, you finally comply and the long awaited day is less than 24 hours away.
So why the fuck is he requesting to video call as if that day is never arriving?
Another girl who loves girls dies on my TV screen and people call it poignant. People call it “actually necessary.” People look at her crumpled brown body and call it a brave, artistic choice.
I call it a bag over my head. I call it dry-heaving into a throw pillow.
Girl-who-loves-girls doesn’t get to be called by her name in this poem because she wouldn’t be called by her name on the news. Girl-who-loves-girls is just a trope anyway, just a social justice lesson. Girl-who-loves-girls is just a body, just a prop left on the floor until convenient. Supposed to make you feel some kinda way to see her lying there, all that could-have-been slipping out of the room like air from lungs, or bullets from a gun.
I’m angry but this poem is not to say that I am angry. This poem, like all poems, is a safe space. This poem is not the only place I can kiss my partner without worrying who’s watching, but sometimes it feels like it is. Sometimes kissing her feels like a precursor to violence.
If we don’t get to be happy, even in fiction, then whose blood shows up for shock value next season? Hers or mine?