I sense my heart constrict inside my own body, as if tightening and flexing against the discomfort would ease the suffocating grip of unreached desires. The rope of desperation ensnares me, and you know I’m claustrophobic.

I sever all connections to my reality through never-ending fantasies of what was and what could’ve been. I cry and scream at strangers who’s foreign nature reminds me I’m the intruder alone and misunderstood.

It only makes sense that the depth of a connection be reflected in the depth of a separation. You always said grief and joy were inseparable, but now I finally understand why lotus flowers can’t grow on marble.

Baek Duri, Jari 11, 2024. Acrylic on Canvas.