For Seungwan, who never quite stopped waiting
This Old Story
This street here
I guess it's not the first time
I think I've come here before
The hand that I always held tight
I remember
- “The Road” by Wendy -
…
She’d been staring for hours, even though her mother’s footsteps were long covered over by snow. Still, she waited. Waited for her mother to turn back, imprint the pavement again, to say she was sorry. She hadn’t meant anything she said. It was a moment of weakness. Of anger. Of mourning.
Of anything.
Seungwan would be fine with anything.
She’d wrap her arms around her and say, “It’s okay. I forgive you. I love you eomma.” Everything will be alright, eomma.
Please come back, eomma.
…
It’s not a ghost, Seungwan thinks. Not exactly.
An icy breath escapes her lips and she gazes up, looking at the very same window she had looked out from years ago.
She can almost see herself, in her high school uniform, name tag slightly skewed above her pocket.
She can’t remember if she wore gloves that day. All she remembers was that her palm was cold, pressed against the glass panel.
She remembers waiting, staring, hoping…
Hoping for her to come into view.
A part of her wants to step forward. Take a step. Two steps. Three. As many as it takes to reach that opening in the wall, to do what her mother never did. To close some sort of chapter. To show that longing spectre she would be okay.
In time, she would be okay.
But she shakes it off. She knows in just a few moments, someone will take her cold hand. She’d show that ghost that she didn’t have to linger by that window anymore.
She’d give her a home, a life, and a love so warm, she’d never feel empty again.
She casts a final glance at that piece of her past and says, just a little more, Seungwan-ah. You’re going to be okay. I know it.
In the meantime, she has cheese tteokbokki bought from that stall Joohyun unnie likes. And her unnie - her unnie’s waiting for her at home.
They’ll split it and maybe crack open a beer or two.
Home.
She can’t wait to get home.
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