fiz esse edit pro aniver see-saw da lippie (10/02) postei lá no instagram e talvez, só talvez, eu tenha esquecido (preguiça) de postar aqui 😬
em caso de inspiração, credite!
abra a imagem pra vê-la com melhor qualidade
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120 — washed-out tulip
April 13th, 2024
Last night I had a dream about Chuu and Kim Lip.
Except they were simply Jiwoo and Jungeun. Young, regular girls without a care in the world.
They were attempting to film a silly video of a challenge that had gained popularity online: one doing three simple moves — bend over, lift the head to look ahead, straighten up — while saying (or mouthing) the numbers one, two, zero; the other seemingly directing the first as if manipulating a puppet. And repeating a bunch of times, for as long as possible.
A few times it was Jungeun who did the moves, but she kept getting them wrong and making Jiwoo laugh, which then meant that Jungeun would start to giggle and be unable to focus again.
I was the designated camera. All I was recording was footage of those two having the time of their lives, in their own world — a bubble I was afraid to burst. So I stayed silent, unmoving, hoping I would not disrupt such a precious moment.
When they both realized it was never going to get done, Jiwoo suggested switching the roles. She was good, as bubbly as ever, and Jungeun had a bit of trouble following along with her hand movements, amazed and entertained by her naturally charming friend.
Once finished, over twenty consecutive repetitions, I returned the phone and continued to admire them both as they prolonged their playing around and light-hearted laughter.
And I had time to really observe. The image of them looked faint. A sleeveless t-shirt, pink weak and forgettable; a black jacket, a few sizes too big on Jiwoo, appearing more greyish than a clean-cut dark. A zip-up turtleneck sweater framing Jungeun, petitioning to become a new shade of white — akin to a cream threatened by this sudden application — despite being registered as beige. Hair shades lighter, lips more nude than skin, faces pale, ghostly, eyes a distant blur; though smiles as bright as the sun.
They looked like a memory. Like a polaroid picture taken with a flash too blinding. Like an old photograph, burnt a bit too much. Like a forgotten moment that the mind is fighting to bring back. Like a figment of imagination. Like a dream within a dream.
A washed-out tulip painted in watercolor that has lost all trace of vibrancy but not a speck of life.
I have tried understanding the significance of this oddly specific dream, yet I have found no meaning; for one, two, oh, timeless friends are sometimes enough — nothing else needed.
— bowlfruitsalad
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