W. Kang Yeop

Anyway, on quiet nights, I hear auditory hallucinations through the sound of rain.
It looks like you're standing in between
The popularity set also follows you around.

////

You and I were close enough that we could be called friends or lovers. But we were far apart. We were so close, so close, yet so far apart. I had a crush on you like a fragment, not even knowing where your heart was, so far away. I still vividly remember your long, jet-black short hair, your lips that were always crimson because of your biting habit, your white skin like jade, and your voice that often cracked because you couldn't make it a habit to drink water. I still vividly remember your hands that were always cold because of Raynaud's syndrome. It felt like you would run to me again at any moment, arch your pretty eyes, smile brightly with your crimson lips, and hug me tightly with a cracked voice. Kwon Soon-young, whether alive or dead, you were always a child like a fantasy.

You were found on the afternoon I called you out to confess, with dozens of roses and hands that would still be cold forever. You were crossing the street jaywalking, afraid of being late for an appointment, and because of the heavy rain that morning, a passing truck skidded without being able to brake and hit you. Dozens of your blood-red roses were delivered to me. In the letter between the petals, my feelings were written. There were long, long, angular sentences that I had straightened with all my heart and soul, pressing my heart down. In that intensive care unit, I tried to hold your hand, interlocking our fingers, but your hands were still cold, but I couldn't close them properly. They fell down, weakly and listlessly. They fell endlessly.

If you could wake up, I could have made this bed next to you my home for decades, like something out of a movie or drama. Soonyoung, you must have hated that. After only two days in the intensive care unit, you were like a vegetable, and then in the quiet night, your heartbeat just stopped, like a straight line. I couldn't even hold a single cold hand. I couldn't even hold your hand that was gradually hardening. I spent it quietly, so futilely, like you. I placed a single rose that resembled your lips in the third compartment of the charnel house across the mountain. When I look at your picture, it's still vivid. That cracking voice, the lips that bit without reason, and your hair that was jet black. You used to be big, but now you're nothing more than a lump of bones that I can hold tightly.