just because your opinions take different shapes within you?

To be honest, I never really felt that way.
I always get this urge to eat popcorn while my thoughts shift and blend into one another.

I often enjoy playing the role of the observer—
watching as all the ideas slowly merge—
and only then do I step in to take the final thought,
using it however it suits me best.

It’s entertaining.
I feel like I really need popcorn in this place.

Look with me toward the horizon…
It’s blindingly white.

And it’s almost laughable—
because when you lift your head during the day,
you can hardly open your eyes to enjoy the light.
The sun shows no mercy—
not like the moon does.

It’s like the sun is saying:
“I light up the world’s darkness—
why should I also be soft and pleasant to look at like the moon?”

But even with all the blackness surrounding the moon—
that endless, terrifying darkness—
I still feel like the moon hides nothing from me.

It doesn’t lie.
It doesn’t sell me the illusion that everything is dazzling white—
or that the light will guide me no matter what.
No.

The moon feels like a gentle reminder:
even if light is strong enough to cover up the dark,
it will never erase the truth of its existence.

The moon makes things clear.

You can lie on your back,
look up at the night’s blackness
without fear—
because the moon quietly reminds you
that there is always light in the middle of the dark.

But the sun…
the sun makes you live in an illusion.
Then, the moment it sets,
it leaves suddenly—
leaving behind only its breathtaking beauty.

Especially if you're watching it set over the sea.

But it’s cruel in its departure—
it slaps you with darkness,
without warning,
as if to say:
“No light follows mine—
no darkness can be lifted without me.”

But you can’t comfortably lie down and gaze at the light made by the sun.
Not unless you find a shadow.
Not unless you find blackness to break that blinding light.

And even though I understand all of this…
I still fear admitting it.

So here I am,
staring at the horizon from this chair that’s become worn out in the blink of an eye.

And as I rock now and then to make noise—
not for any real reason—
just because I’m afraid of being left alone here.

Afraid of being forgotten in the place I’ve been tucked away in.

I don’t know which one I am anymore—
Am I the one who smiles from time to time,
dressed in red…?
Or have I taken her place,
pretending she stole something from me?

Because in a soft, glowing white world…
I lent it my darkness.

Ah… I smile.
I remembered.

It was me.
I imprisoned myself in my own darkness—
and I’m afraid to leave it in her hands.

Have you grown used to the dimness there, me?
There’s no shame in the strange way you smile each time…

Have you become arrogant?
I wonder.

I smile again.

No…
I bite my lip—
because I’m feeling something.

I’m indulging in it.

Not as if I’ve taken over your bright place, me.
I just…
I just want to see.
I want to live in the light.

I, the one who grew up in the dark—
Is that allowed?
It is, isn’t it?

I thought I’d fool myself into pushing me out…
but here I am—
smiling.

No—
I’m laughing out loud now.