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Hello everybody XD

Some of you might find my name a little familiar due to my SJ writing; I am hehehe08, and I have created this journal for personal entries. A SJ pieces are F-locked, and so you may go ahead and friend me if you want to read them.



Thank you for stopping by XD

*Blows kisses*
___

Battle



Battle




It's a butterfly.
Only just that.

up and down it goes,
taking me with it,
twirling me in its whirlwind,
picking me up.

a rag doll,
the thin paper flaming, blackening, disappearing delicately





[just a split lifetime, less than a tiny century
with no one living past it. It's nothing, really]





but I was - and it's the butterfly that got the best of me,
the delicate balance that no one even knows they share

and it will be known by a knuckle of people only

he will know it got me - he will remember it got me, and finished me off
and right then he might remember me, the love we share, the luck he has
that his delicate butterfly loved him back.

Tags:

Slow Dance






Slow Dance




I'm sitting there, wondering. Wondering if my hair will stop shedding. If my health will come back soon (what if it doesn't?).
And I don't see it, because I'm gone, in the dark, far from your light. So no, I don't see it, but you look at me. You look at me, for me, and get up.



And since when has the music been playing? I don't know. But you get up, and take my hand.
And slowly, you dance me.




Kim Ryeowook's voice, yes, but your scent. Your gentleness, your manliness. You peck my neck, and I hold on to your shirt.




Slow. Tender.




Right in the middle of our tiny apartment, the dog watching (maybe he feels the love).
And you sing along, the broken korean so perfect to my ears.




And even if I can't believe you when you say you'd love me even if I were completely bald, I love you so much for it. For every word, my darling.





Slowly.


____________

Passing Glance



The bottom line is....



I am showered with love, happily married, completely soaked in it, drenched and dripping of it wherever I go. Some bitter people hate it - but most are jealous. Maybe you were?



I was going to write.
I was going to write sadness, and hate, and emotions about being discarded crudely, about being pushed away, all stylized, html and size.

You almost made me write them, long paragraphs and prose, carefully picked tenses and words.


But I won't. Not for you.















[For you? The emptiness you crave, and
2 minutes 27 seconds.
No more.]






















....that you just aren't worth it.

Tags:

Fan


Fan



It's incredible.

The lights flicker: blue, red, yellow. And they scream; they scream behind me, in front of me, next to me.

And quite honestly, I scream too. Whenever they come near, I scream, and I fan my face when Kim Ryeowook points near me - (because inmymindthereisnodoubtthathesawthesingIamholding-herdrawing!). The voices, they strike me, pull me in. I sing along in Korean, remembering all of the lyrics to a fault, in disbelief when their amazing vocals floor me.

When you see that I am not tall enough for him to see the drawing well, or that I'm dying to take a picture, you take it from my hands; you hold it up high, and scream in Korean when he walks by:

"SARANGHAEYO KIM RYEOWOOOOOK!!!!!! RYEOWOOK SSI EUI MOKSORIGA CHUEGO!!!!!!!".

I stop, turn to my left and look at you.

The lights play with your features: blue, red, yellow turn to sapphire, ruby and gold.

And suddenly, as crazy as it may sound (and you always say you don't believe me when I tell you this part), I imagine Kim Ryeowook and Cho Kyuhyun suddenly stop their singing to look at you, all of the people in the room suddenly screaming for you, all of them wishing they were with/like you.

And the girls scream at the stage - they scream, cry, and some even faint at the lights, the makeup, the lyrics, the dream.

And tonight, when we return to our shabby little hotel room with a terrible view, I will be the one lucky enough to hold and kiss the world's most precious secret. And no stage will ever be big enough for it.

Merci mon amour.

The classroom



The Classroom



I sit and smile; you can't look at me, you can't smile back, up there, in front of the auditorium, standing proud and tall. And they all sit down, and stop talking. All of them. For you. There should be ten auditoriums of this size filled to hear you talk.

Ten, at the very least.

And you start your class, your power point working perfectly, down to every detail I helped you correct earlier today at home.

And you move, and they listen. And you instruct, they learn, they ask, they participate, and I have to be silent, because they don't know I'm not one of them. They don't know that this classroom is our little secret, that I am sitting here, pretending to be taking notes, when I'm really just admiring you: your strong voice, your manly speech, your beautiful body (I frown when the girls bite their lips next to me after looking at your crotch - I wish I could throw the desk at them).

But inside, I am loud, my love. Inside, I am up on that desk, screaming to the world how amazing you are, how lucky I am to be your wife.

And I am telling these girls that you are coming home with me.

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mshehehe08
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