He lies under the starlit sky

He lies under the star-lit sky. The stars seem to call out to him like sirens. Come, come, come to me June. Come here and stay with me. They seem to whisper. He gasps at the sight of the milky sky, shimmering with light. Light that reminds the boy of a girl, named Sue. He decides to call her.
Hello?
Hey, how are you, it's me June.
Oh hi! Fine, how have you been doing?
Well, I'm in Junnam now, on a fieldtrip at work. Chilling under this korean pavillion a wondumak after a few sabals, bowls of makgullee. Great, I'm doing great.
Youre like a real younger sister to me
I don't know why I always speak of the future and wishes when I@m with you instead of those mundane every day topics.

No I will not do that.

There may be a couple of things I will not do,
I will not sacrifice my life for others, I will not do things that end up in lowering my self-esteem, I will not bite off more than I can chew, I will not do what is against my will, all of these things that I say I will not do is mentioned because they are what I have been doing.

writing and unhappiness

  I just noticed that, probably, nobody writes when they are happy because they are simply busy being so satisfied with themselves. As for me also, writing and reading is more easily done when I am less content with my life. It may sound funny for me to say that I actually try to find moments when I feel unhappy enough to get into writing. Feeling discontent must bring forth a hunger for words. We gulp them up until we feel full, burp and vomit them out until we feel empty. In this way, writing feels very similar to digestion. The pencil protrudes its sharpened tooth to naw across the pages, it eats away the paper with silent slicing sounds while leaving a track of black lead behind.

  Thus the pencil can be defined as an essential animal to be bred in writing. My pencil is now much like a sheep. It wanders out while taking chunks of grass here and there, leaving tracks everywhere, anywhere it wants. However, it has not yet truely seen or gone beyond the invisible fence, beyond being merely herded. My drawing has certainly surpassed this cultivated limit. The lines are free and fluent. That may be why I feel an urge to roam out as far as drawing with my writing as well. It will probably take a period of time where my only means of expression would be writing, which I expect will be a very sad period. In the meantime, I think I will stay content in the fields of glory and happiness, graze in the sun for a while. I believe these enjoyable times will pass and my unhappiness will, someday again, take my pencil across the territories.