* on becoming (#iii:) *
23/04/2026 04:33pm.
i'm a fountain of blood, in the shape of a girl.
― bachelorette by björk.
なぜ、伝えれば 想いは捻じれる
(the more i speak, the more my heart twists,)
なぜ、触れるだけが 壊してしまう
(with just one touch it's going to crumble away.)
おしえてよ。
(tell me,)
どこに心はあるの？
(where's my heart?)
うつろな左胸が問う
(the left side of my hollow chest questions me.)
― heartless by itoki hana.
i loved this song when i first heard it six years ago, but recently i've been replaying kingdom hearts and i've been thinking a
lot about this one. like is this eerie monologue from someone in the process of becoming a heartless, narrating their own unraveling and visualizing their empty husk (nobody) being left behind.
i just think is a funny way to interpret the song.
"search for me until you find me,
i am in the wilderness and i have finished uprooting the thorns,
and now i will plant a grapevine.
the raging fire inside me has been doused with water,
so love me as you love your little lambs,
and care for me as you care for your herd of cattle,
and search for me until you find me.
"everything is about love. and when it isn't,
it's about the abscence of it."
— @onlywithn on twitter.
i've been not feeling like writing lately, words are not coming out.
i've been feeling this strange feeling of something being off, and yet, everything seems fine, close to perfect.
it was my birthday last week and i had the best weekend.
i've been thinking about this full moon i saw at the beginning of the month. it was the brightest i had ever seen. the month started with a full moon, and a new one on the exact day of my birthday.
i've been reminded about a lot of things. about writing, about love, about hope and about me, five years ago.
i cannot grasp that younger me, praying for crying, for a different iteration of self.
so many things are happening all the time. not bad things, just different. i'm not the same boy stuck in his room, imagining things. i still feel like him, yet i can't reach him.
i haven’t prepared anything for my birthday this year, nor the year before, i lost the practice of celebrating. i used to do drawings or little poems for myself...
i feel isolated. not physically, but mentally. and yet, unknown allies are finding me.
as a sliver of what it once was, i can only surrender to this. my grand refusal had becomed.
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