All that any of us truly wanted was to be dead. That was our private, unspoken seal. Hot wax between us cooling, coalescing, becoming hard, pressed, embossed by cold metal in a shape we would never learn.

Living was too complicated, meandering, folding forever back on itself. It erased us, what we were, shone the light on the illusion of progress and dispersed it like steam from a fresh cup of tea blown on to cool it so the drinker wouldn’t burn themselves. It just kept getting worse, it just kept disappearing.

Some of us would succeed with the dirtnap. Self-designed executions. It wasn’t the mid-air collision that killed you, it was the drop. Always a long, slow-motion descent. Long enough to check your watch. Long enough to book a flight out of here but you’d be dead by then crushed by time and gravity, broken by the impact, the bag of flesh and broken bones no match for the concrete or the soft cushion of the sofa in the living room. Just a quick little cat nap, just gotta rest your eyes, get up off your feet for a minute.

We’re still in that minute and we’re trying to get out. - image @yangwoonchul