˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡ R's diary entry 1.

This is how i imagine a page R's diary would read.｡･:*˚:✧｡

↶*ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊ-

✧. ┊  the handwriting is scratchy and unskilled, but the emotion behind them is raw and clear.

I never imagined something like this would be possible. I mean, I'm happy about it, but I just don't have an explanation for why or how a heart would suddenly start beating after months, or even years of being still. Not to mention the most plausible reasoning at hand; that love brought me back to life? It all sounds a fairytale, a sick joke, or an acid fever dream.

My body still hasn't caught up though, which I suppose is more logical. Bodily functions are still slow or irregular, and Marcus has tried grip my shoulder and shake me a few times as much as he can while he's still figuring out the logistics behind emotional support. 

You know, I was really afraid when I felt that sharp blow of a bullet go through me... I don't remember ever fearing for my "life" like that. Not even when i took a pocket knife in my chest too. What is it with me and getting hit in the chest all the time? First a knife, then a bullet, then... Julie.

Even though I'm still confused, I know one thing for sure. I don't want this crazy fever dream to end. I think I'm starting to really like living. A part of me still misses "home" back at the airport, but... Only the people that had to stay there stay there now. all of my belongings and collectibles and piles of uselessness are still left behind, save for a snow globe and a few other small trinkets I could hide in my pockets away from Julie. Julie thinks I don't need any of this stuff anymore. She looks back on it like I'm supposed to resent it or something.

I don't know. maybe i do resent my past... death. or, whatever era that was. The era that I was a 'corpse'...

Or maybe I think it's okay that I was dead. Maybe I should be more proud of it since everyone else is ashamed. No one talks about their past anymore. Ever since they realized they could move on and rebuild their lives, they did. I watched so many make new friends and stay at the Stadium, none of them looking back. It's like they're all trying to forget when I'm besotted with reminiscing.

...It does make me feel alone again, though. To be stuck looking back at the past where everyone is just itching to move on.

Sometimes late at night when the Stadium and probably the rest of what's left of humanity is asleep, I find myself wandering. Maybe around the house, maybe on the street. Sometimes I have a set destination and sometimes I don't. Maybe I feel something. Maybe i feel hungry. Maybe I feel like I need a hug. Maybe I feel like I need rest.

But I wander.

I wander like a fucking corpse.

...That wasn't kind thing to think, let alone write. I guess I can't help but want it out of my head and onto a page. Maybe the prejudice surrounding exhumed humanity is really getting to me. Maybe I just need some fresh air and a talk with my best friend.

✧. ┊  the page ends with jagged doodles of R holding his snow globe behind his back to Julie; R laying ill in bed and Marcus sat next to him, patting his back too hard; and R standing in the middle of a dark, empty space.