TEASER 02 : I MISS YOU.
《WELCOME HOME》 | vacancy! apply now!《WELCOME HOME》 : I MISS YOU.
«THEY SAID I LOOKED GOOD»
march, 2017
he's sitting on the porch in front of the house, the warm spring breeze gently playing with his GREYED hair. HIS FINGERTIPS GRAZE THE CROTcHETED WHITE BLANKET THAT COVERS HIS KNEES, CAUSING MEMORIES TO flood his brain, pictures of his wife working night and day on the white bedspread, and a tiny hand reaching for his finger from the fluffy depths, wrapping him around her tiny finger within seconds.
his gaze finally shifts and meets the leather binding of his old diary. his shaking hands reach for the thick booK, his skin getting in touch with the yellowed, crinkled pages. his breathing becomes less steady as he rcognizes his own handwriting, recalls the words pouring down onto the paper from the tip of his pen. he's thrown back in time once more when a certain page comes to daylight, feeling the urge to strengthen his grip on the diary and tear it apart, TO SEND THE BLUE STICKY NOTES FLYING- yet the feeling of cool, gentle fingertips brushing past the back of his hand like a refreshing gust of wind holds him back.
he's sitting on the porch in front of the house, the warm spring breeze gently playing with his GREYED hair. HIS FINGERTIPS GRAZE THE CROTcHETED WHITE BLANKET THAT COVERS HIS KNEES, CAUSING MEMORIES TO flood his brain, pictures of his wife working night and day on the white bedspread, and a tiny hand reaching for his finger from the fluffy depths, wrapping him around her tiny finger within seconds.
his gaze finally shifts and meets the leather binding of his old diary. his shaking hands reach for the thick booK, his skin getting in touch with the yellowed, crinkled pages. his breathing becomes less steady as he rcognizes his own handwriting, recalls the words pouring down onto the paper from the tip of his pen. he's thrown back in time once more when a certain page comes to daylight, feeling the urge to strengthen his grip on the diary and tear it apart, TO SEND THE BLUE STICKY NOTES FLYING- yet the feeling of cool, gentle fingertips brushing past the back of his hand like a refreshing gust of wind holds him back.
«LIKE I HAD OVERCOME EVERYTHING,»
may, 2015
she kneels in front of a small FRAMED photo standing on her bedside table, the room barely lit by a handful of white candles on her drawer. long strands of black hair pour down onto her shoulders, her clenched FISTs, the wooden floor that also displays single droplets of water. she cries, mewls "i miss you" and "i'm sorry" on repeat whenever her hitched breathing allows her to.
she misses the sound of the door to her bedroom being opened quietly by a man in his mid-fourties, cold hands carrying a small tray. his wife's doe eyes keep staring at him with the same amount of warmth as ever as he puts the tray down and reaches for the neatly sprawled white bedspread next to him, draping it over the shivering back of his daughter- it's a helpless attempt to keep her warm. lowering his head, he retreats from the room, not able to stand the sight any longer, and once he has closed the door behind him, he leans against the wall, controlled breaths leaving his barely parted lips.
he had always been labled as strong and protective, even courageous- and he wanted to use all of these attributes to protect his daughter, his baby girl;
yet why was it that he lost all of his courage, his strength, his speech, just at the sight of his daughter in tears?
the crying behind him intensified, and he realized just how weak of a man he really was- and always had been.
she kneels in front of a small FRAMED photo standing on her bedside table, the room barely lit by a handful of white candles on her drawer. long strands of black hair pour down onto her shoulders, her clenched FISTs, the wooden floor that also displays single droplets of water. she cries, mewls "i miss you" and "i'm sorry" on repeat whenever her hitched breathing allows her to.
she misses the sound of the door to her bedroom being opened quietly by a man in his mid-fourties, cold hands carrying a small tray. his wife's doe eyes keep staring at him with the same amount of warmth as ever as he puts the tray down and reaches for the neatly sprawled white bedspread next to him, draping it over the shivering back of his daughter- it's a helpless attempt to keep her warm. lowering his head, he retreats from the room, not able to stand the sight any longer, and once he has closed the door behind him, he leans against the wall, controlled breaths leaving his barely parted lips.
he had always been labled as strong and protective, even courageous- and he wanted to use all of these attributes to protect his daughter, his baby girl;
yet why was it that he lost all of his courage, his strength, his speech, just at the sight of his daughter in tears?
the crying behind him intensified, and he realized just how weak of a man he really was- and always had been.
«YET I FELT LIKE I COULD CRY every second,»
september, 2016
she ruffles her hair a bit, an irritated look on her face as she reads the message on her phone, the screen lighting up her features. she imagines him ruffling his short hair just like she did a few seconds ago. he possibly prays to god so that he will at least receive a sign of her being well and alive, not to mention the time she'll eventually be home at so that he can wait for her in peace.
she scrolls back in their list of shared messages, her eyes landing on a line of photos he'd sent her yesterday. a newly-built house- OUR NEW HOME, he'd said. built for them to live in, a house designed to attorn to her needs, one that would hopefully restore the good feelings she'd been pushing away for a while now- but he doesn't understand.
she ruffles her hair a bit, an irritated look on her face as she reads the message on her phone, the screen lighting up her features. she imagines him ruffling his short hair just like she did a few seconds ago. he possibly prays to god so that he will at least receive a sign of her being well and alive, not to mention the time she'll eventually be home at so that he can wait for her in peace.
she scrolls back in their list of shared messages, her eyes landing on a line of photos he'd sent her yesterday. a newly-built house- OUR NEW HOME, he'd said. built for them to live in, a house designed to attorn to her needs, one that would hopefully restore the good feelings she'd been pushing away for a while now- but he doesn't understand.
no one does.
her left hand wraps around one of the metal bars in front of her, gaze shifting down to the ground beneath.
she waits for the couple to walk away from the edge of the river, her face twitching a bit at the sight, a small wave of regret washing over her as she thinks of the boy SHE WAS INTRODUCED TO BY HER CLASSMATE A FEW WEEKS AGo, and who had tried courting her sincerely ever since.
i don't deserve this.
her left hand wraps around one of the metal bars in front of her, gaze shifting down to the ground beneath.
she waits for the couple to walk away from the edge of the river, her face twitching a bit at the sight, a small wave of regret washing over her as she thinks of the boy SHE WAS INTRODUCED TO BY HER CLASSMATE A FEW WEEKS AGo, and who had tried courting her sincerely ever since.
i don't deserve this.
with one last, deep sigh, she starts climbing up the fence that parts her from the edge of the bridge. SHE WONDERS IF SHE'll really manage to get past its' height, yet she's never been one to give up easily when it came to sports- and she's even more desperate now, wishing to find her own kind of freedom as she easily swings her legs past the top of the fence.
i don't deserve happiness.
« BARELY ABLE TO HOLD IT IN.»
march, 2017
he has taken a seat on one of the sofas in the living room, his eyes flying across various papers in the skilled mannor of a teacher. he checks dozens of names, backgrounds and occupations- all to be perfectly set for the many interviews he will lead tomorrow, hopefully leading to a few young people agreeing to living at this lifeless place.
he has taken a seat on one of the sofas in the living room, his eyes flying across various papers in the skilled mannor of a teacher. he checks dozens of names, backgrounds and occupations- all to be perfectly set for the many interviews he will lead tomorrow, hopefully leading to a few young people agreeing to living at this lifeless place.
"tomorrow's the day." he doesn't even flinch at the sound of one of the thick, heavy curtains being ripped off and thrown to the ground.
"i'm sure you're happy." this time, a vase flies across the room. he only raises an eyebrow, enjoying another sip of his tea that tastes of nothing but salt, but he won't grant her that win as well.
"there's no need to be scared. you should know that i'm fairly good at reading people."
he laughs at the note that's scribbled across one of the papers in front of him.
i'm not scared, but whoever passes thAT door tomorrow, should be.
HE EMPTIES HIS CUP -THE HOPEFULLY LAST SALTY ONE FOR TODAY-, and leans back on the sofa and closes his eyes to the sound of one of Beethoven's symphonies.
"please put on something nice tomorrow- and for god's sake, brush your hair. you're looking worse than that girl that came out of the-"
"you mean sadako." he opens his eyes at the ring of a female voice close to his right ear.
"please put on something nice tomorrow- and for god's sake, brush your hair. you're looking worse than that girl that came out of the-"
"you mean sadako." he opens his eyes at the ring of a female voice close to his right ear.
"oh yes, i believe that was her name." he sees her biting her lips, obviously supressing a sound of happiness.
"maybe you should laugh tomorrow. your voice has a nice ring to it whenever you're happy."
"maybe you should laugh tomorrow. your voice has a nice ring to it whenever you're happy."
she just snorts and throws her hair back, getting up and becoming invisible again in a mere second.
"...by the way, thank you. i never really liked that vase, anyways."
"...by the way, thank you. i never really liked that vase, anyways."
«I NEVER WAS OKAY.»
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