01 i am seunghyun.
((SeungHyun's P.O.V))
It seemed like I was living in a never-ending loop. Day in and day out I went through the same Sisyphean ritual that never got me anywhere.
At eight I made my claustrophobic commute to school on the subway. For the next five or so hours, Monday through Saturday, I was at NYU studying to become an illustrator. I was stuck in the basement floor of the art building staring at a computer screen unknowingly feeding the Carpel Tunnel I was set to get in a couple of years. Not even for my general classes had I the pleasure of seeing the sun.
From campus I headed to work in the afternoon for a couple of hours. I worked the register at my friend's family's convenience store in Queens only a few blocks away from my house. The place wasn't very well known, fortunately. I took the opportunity when there was no one in the store to do any homework and projects I could.
After closing I returned to my apartment at around ten to try to finish my piles of homework which never appeared to clear up and attempted to study for my upcoming finals. Finally at around two or three in the morning I dragged myself back to bed. Half the time I couldn't even manage take my clothes off.
Tonight was no different. I got back at about ten-thirty to wrap up three projects and start two more. For hours I surrounded myself with papers, markers and pencils at the kitchen table. I was tired of doing this over and over again. There was a time when making CD layouts and event invitations were fun, but the enjoyment eventually went away. I just kept reminding myself that soon it'd all be over and done with.
At two in the morning I was finally done with the projects I had due tomorrow. I hated that I was such a perfectionist in my work; if I wasn't I'd probably be in bed, happy, by at least eleven. I carefully put away my pieces but left the rest of my materials in the mess I had accumulated on the table. I reached into my backpack and pulled out my planner which contained my schedule of what was due when. It was only when I flipped it open to the month of December that I realized it was Saturday. I had no classes tomorrow.
"FUCK!" I yelled at the top of my lungs. I was too used to doing this every day I didn't remember I had a day off in the week. I was beyond angry but now I was just looking forward to sleep in late.
I hauled my half-conscious body into my bedroom and tossed myself on my bed. I was just waiting to drift into sleep... but I knew well that it wouldn't happen so easily. Once my head hit that pillow, the exhaustion that surged through my body for the past three hours dissipated into the surrounding air. The heaviness that sat upon my eyes lifted and soon I was left staring at the moonlight reflected off the objects in my room. Instead of a well-deserved slumber, I could feel something else creeping into me. All was silent, but a feeling in my gut told me it would be otherwise in only a few moments.
Memories... too many memories... too many thoughts... too many bad thoughts. I didn't want to go through this again but it was like I was going through withdrawal from a drug; I couldn't help it. My mind wanted to hear her voice again. My body was holding out for her familiar touch for way too long. I didn't understand it wasn't going to be like that anymore, that I had to move on.
I tried... God, I tried. But every time I tried to sort everything out it all went back to one thing: it was my fault. It was all my fault and I couldn't do anything about it now. Everything that happened... everything that could have happened... everything that I wanted to happen... it was too much. I was so stupid and now I had to live with it. I hated myself and I hated this feeling. It felt like a black void bigger than my own body was tearing me up from the inside out. Yet at the same time, there was a painful emptiness that made me feel nonexistent.
For the fifth night in a row I cried myself to sleep. It was a never-ending loop.
It seemed like I was living in a never-ending loop. Day in and day out I went through the same Sisyphean ritual that never got me anywhere.
At eight I made my claustrophobic commute to school on the subway. For the next five or so hours, Monday through Saturday, I was at NYU studying to become an illustrator. I was stuck in the basement floor of the art building staring at a computer screen unknowingly feeding the Carpel Tunnel I was set to get in a couple of years. Not even for my general classes had I the pleasure of seeing the sun.
From campus I headed to work in the afternoon for a couple of hours. I worked the register at my friend's family's convenience store in Queens only a few blocks away from my house. The place wasn't very well known, fortunately. I took the opportunity when there was no one in the store to do any homework and projects I could.
After closing I returned to my apartment at around ten to try to finish my piles of homework which never appeared to clear up and attempted to study for my upcoming finals. Finally at around two or three in the morning I dragged myself back to bed. Half the time I couldn't even manage take my clothes off.
Tonight was no different. I got back at about ten-thirty to wrap up three projects and start two more. For hours I surrounded myself with papers, markers and pencils at the kitchen table. I was tired of doing this over and over again. There was a time when making CD layouts and event invitations were fun, but the enjoyment eventually went away. I just kept reminding myself that soon it'd all be over and done with.
At two in the morning I was finally done with the projects I had due tomorrow. I hated that I was such a perfectionist in my work; if I wasn't I'd probably be in bed, happy, by at least eleven. I carefully put away my pieces but left the rest of my materials in the mess I had accumulated on the table. I reached into my backpack and pulled out my planner which contained my schedule of what was due when. It was only when I flipped it open to the month of December that I realized it was Saturday. I had no classes tomorrow.
"FUCK!" I yelled at the top of my lungs. I was too used to doing this every day I didn't remember I had a day off in the week. I was beyond angry but now I was just looking forward to sleep in late.
I hauled my half-conscious body into my bedroom and tossed myself on my bed. I was just waiting to drift into sleep... but I knew well that it wouldn't happen so easily. Once my head hit that pillow, the exhaustion that surged through my body for the past three hours dissipated into the surrounding air. The heaviness that sat upon my eyes lifted and soon I was left staring at the moonlight reflected off the objects in my room. Instead of a well-deserved slumber, I could feel something else creeping into me. All was silent, but a feeling in my gut told me it would be otherwise in only a few moments.
Memories... too many memories... too many thoughts... too many bad thoughts. I didn't want to go through this again but it was like I was going through withdrawal from a drug; I couldn't help it. My mind wanted to hear her voice again. My body was holding out for her familiar touch for way too long. I didn't understand it wasn't going to be like that anymore, that I had to move on.
I tried... God, I tried. But every time I tried to sort everything out it all went back to one thing: it was my fault. It was all my fault and I couldn't do anything about it now. Everything that happened... everything that could have happened... everything that I wanted to happen... it was too much. I was so stupid and now I had to live with it. I hated myself and I hated this feeling. It felt like a black void bigger than my own body was tearing me up from the inside out. Yet at the same time, there was a painful emptiness that made me feel nonexistent.
For the fifth night in a row I cried myself to sleep. It was a never-ending loop.