“You’re well aware of your goals here, am I correct?” It’s fishy –to give a nod but not be the one doing it. He’s answering for me I might say. There’s a delay in how I respond because I stare this peculiar man posting his arm on his knee like a sensei in caution.

Ever since we’ve been instructed to part ways, that woman and I … we enacted our good-byes before getting to the main house –also the office was more urban than anything until you got back to the outside terrace.

That’s where I was now, sitting traditionally on this mat with the man in front of me likewise but rather slackened in his resting place.

We sat here, between the conscience of mines b and his concrete efforts. 

“I’m your therapist slash confidant. We are in this together. The latter is simply relied upon your bed rest, Mr. Park.”

With all my might, I refrain from questioning too harshly. “That’s the first stage, right? Bed rest. Where will I be sleeping?”

“In your room of course, your stay for these next couple of days however will only be in that room. This is the first step to healing.” He cares to stretch his hand out and cup the energy he himself can only grasp.

This man has emasculate arms however his features are of those fairytales. The yukata he’s under makes him more gravitating and I wonder to myself if I’m attracted to this factor of his.

I’m not at any way questioning my uality –it’s been somewhere evident that I can love a man. However, I’ve never looked at any other man quite like this. I’m grimacing over the thought of gazing down his chest. He’s my therapist and I’m checking him out.

Quit blabbering –dammit.

“So, I’m stuck in my room.” I clarify hoarsely.

“Precisely.” I get a smile and he then narrows his eyes –“I’m not keeping you bound, that’s your duty. Exhibit the patience you had when you no longer began to alleviate your anxiety. As your anxiety did not wait on you, you should not wait on clarity.”

“Meet yourself half way this week, Mr. Park,” I’m motioned to stand up and then he leads the way. “At this stage, the patient recovers from mental and physical fatigue and the therapist has the opportunity to observe the patient while resting.”

“Your name again?” I fixate my eyes around these trees –the smell I probably won’t be seeing again for some time.

“Dr. Hosensu.” He’s now speaking Korean while following with a glance over his shoulder, “Your things are in your room, everything but your cell phone, those of which you may have thought would help pass by time.” I’m faced with a gradually and graceful turn before me. He’s now expecting I hand over my phone. I have it in my back pocket and quietly hand it over.

“Thank you.” Reverting back to japanese, Dr. Hosensu carries on the strides. “If you’re comfortable wearing a yakata, there is a wardrobe in the closet. Everything is supplied and breakfast, lunch, dinner are not denied during your stay.”

We have been walking from the main house, past a couple of guest houses and I warily cut my eyes to the breeze flying over particles of tree debris.

The next corner, turns us and we find that a woman more so runs with a determined fixation at him.

“Dr. Hosensu!” She exclaimed. “Were you planning on cooking this evening? I’ve been thinking about all day… that I’d really like that.” Her eyes are sparkling up at the man. She seems to be a patient but these mature eyes of hers make me hesitate. I wouldn’t believe someone like her would have a disorder.

This woman. She cannot begin to approach me with a greeting and the therapist doesn’t lack in scolding when her body tenses at the sight of me and his reply. “Don’t worry about what I’ll cook, worry about why you’re worrying about what I’m doing when it’s not a worry at all. You’re distracting your stress...” Chinese I’m hearing maybe?

I simply watch her long neck lull back as her eyes closed upon the mood. She’s concentrating on not shaking. Perhaps my existence frightens her. I continue seeing this black wavy hair tousle through the wind; her whiter than cotton skin may have just begun to produce a sweat along her forehead after the sprint. This woman.

I could have possibly felt that I needed her to grant me a heavenly satisfying heartbeat if she only could smile. It’s funny, her dialect from her country makes her sound alluring but this timid woman ends up bowing at me. “Dr. Hosensu is right. I hope your stages go well.”

This woman. Caught in a lie –abashed for lacking in her own doubts, tells me. I have no idea what’s she said to me but it seems she’s learned something and clearly retreats for a purpose.

Dr.Hosensu basically addressed the girl’s behavior. “When you can’t think properly, you tend to spout anything. Her eyes were on you in a blink of a simple gaze but she lost confidence.” He tells me while I raise my brow.

“How?”

“Though she hoped I’d cook, she lied to herself and avoided talking to you. She wasn’t confident enough and the language barrier may have frightened her away. But she came up nonetheless, which pleases me.” He grins and I’m left turning over my shoulder to see that woman covering her face along her walk. She’s blushing? I’m not sure but I would like to assure her it’s not bad to say hello. Then again, I won’t act as though my problems aren’t climbing up the same bark.

It may not have been that she liked me but that she physically couldn’t face me because it was extremely difficult.

 “Isn’t it strange, we talk least about the things we think about most?” I mutter and can see that my temporary home is right here by a cherry blossom. I’m ecstatic that it’s in season and the closer I get towards the doors, my entire frame emits actual response. It’s fear.

I’m hearing myself; things I run away from every time my mind is so cloudy –won’t be accessible. It’s just me and my brain –this sickness.

All that should have made sense will run over me, and will I cry? Just how will do in this house for seven days?

“You’re not allowed to read, speak to anyone, smoke, listen to music or watch TV.” Dr. Hosensu leads the way from the panel doors and I enter cautiously. My lips form slowly into a thin line and I gulp. It’s like resort room and yet it lacks what resort entails in a sense. To be occupied –and that’s the complete opposite of this stay.

And so I’m left alone after the fact.

The shut of the doors really shutter by the distinct cut of my relation to the outside world.

For that very reason, I walk over to my bed and slump down entirely to my back. I don’t remember the last they came for me all at once.

I hate this. I’m here –I feel stupid. I thought I was stronger than this and why couldn’t I receive a part myself I always had.

And so I’m left alone to reflect.

This is the place where we had our time together. The small memories that flutter in and out my heart and mind always seem to have made me want to give it another chiding relinquish. If it’s heartwarming from then, I blame myself still for being a part of his pain now.

While sitting on this bench with my elbows at the end of my thighs, I sit crouch over and gaze at the park before me. The sun is starting to go down and the skies are danced with orange, red, pink and blue. Though I smile at it, I feel sad. It’s not about the picture but the emotions that come with it. It’s starting from the first experience and its last.

I’ll see this place and not feel one bit alleviated from the times that I gave him a hard time. I play hard to get –it was fun falling for him in that respect but I never really told him I loved him. He did it so many times here.

Near the swings, by the water fountain and the outskirts of where food trucks occasionally come on a flowering Spring event. I rather care to nudge towards where I hadn’t sprung from unobtrusive opportunities of exposing myself more and more.

I wanted to kiss him so many times. Near the bench I sit on, we stood and entwined her hands together –promising to bake something for the holidays as it would appear we would want to be together for another five months. He was always so calm about rubbing it in my face how head over heels I was becoming.

We had such a short time and even then I cry because I want more memories. If they’re going to break my heart, I don’t care. Just to be with him, I start this perpetual prayer. God knows Chanyeol won’t be able to handle me when he gets back.

I knew where I messed up. I get how he must have felt. There’s no doubt he gets what I must have felt but he thinks he disgusts me. I made him fret and I just can’t breathe the same since discovering so.

My eyes are wiped away quickly. Awfully, my lips quiver at the sensation of listlessness. So it’s then that I look above for the last time and allow myself to cry. It’s about time I did it and went on to better places. There’s no sense in acting as if my prayers and worries is going to fix him alone. I have to get a grip and become strong for the f