For some reason I've been dreaming every night since I got to Korea. Unlike the dreams I usually have they take on initial appearances of the mundane. Things like: Wearing a shirt (that I currently do have) I find that it's impossibly heavy due to the shrinkwrapped sausages in its pocket. These dreams slide out of sight until I touch whatever it is that was the analogue of the dream-world, and then these localized and unreliable images pop into sight and I stand there in an emptily expectant apartment on the thirteenth floor with sunlight streaming in waiting for something to happen to this shirt I'm now holding.

opening this cellphone I have here it's this fixed relic back to 2002, shouts of worldcup fever crowding my ears. the sound of text messages somehow connects me back to this older girl I used to like then in this absolutely legitimate (scare quotes around scare quotes around legitimate) but equally teenagerly earnest longing and wrote about in a pitifully embarrassing journal in a blue fountain pen my friend gave me and I treasured until I lost it some four years later. letters coming out all gradiented, unsteadily pale blue, transitioning to a darker shade as I move past words like "I" and "feel" and went towards further adjectives, adverbs, flowerings of modifiers. the periods of sentences ending with navy or nearly black ink. hesitation means illegibility and I remember being spurred on by the speed of this fountain pen and the imperfect nib which I had dropped so many times; the rush of infrastructure aiding the rush of emotions. not altogether good for coherence, wonderful for paper and hidden hardcover books and future selves refinding these things in a dusty corner of a sterile storage space, sitting crosslegged and still, for just one moment.