She counts while skipping.

1,2,3

As though there was an imaginary hopscotch in front of her.

Her ragged breaths clouded her view, showing how she felt at that moment.

4,5,6

The streets were familiar but she felt like a stranger by just being there.

As though intruding a part of the world that wasn’t hers.

7,8,9

The skips turn to draggy footsteps and she tried controlling the nervous puffs of breaths to steady, rhythmic breathing.

10

She opened her eyes.

Opposite where she stood, was a once familiar building.

She looked up to a dark window, which contained a room that held too many memories for her.

She bowed and closed her eyes.

10

She opened her eyes again and looked up at the same window.

It remained dark.

The ragged breathings returned. Puffs of air clouded her facial features. Everything turned blurry. Throat closing in and lungs felt that they were about to explode. The same feelings when it happened.

Slowly turning away from the building, she made her way back.

1,2,3

Heels thudding the pavement; eyes blinking away tears.

The way her insides feel like it had been scooped out and has a never-ending pit.

Events of what followed kept replaying in her head.

4.5,6

That dreaded call. His mom. His dad.

Newspaper headlines and endless interviews.

Her clammy hands to accompany her smiles on stage.

Hospital visits and antiseptic. Of hidden tears and fake smiles. Of IV drips and machines beeping.

Of unspoken words…

Visions of black and the smell of lilies mingled with freshly dug up earth.

…and fears.

7

A humble box  given by his mum when the latter invited her to Busan. In the confines of the guest room she was staying in, she took bits of the treasure out.

Birthday notebook.

Polaroids

Blue spectacles.

Then it all turned blurry.

As she tucked herself into bed, a familiar scent enveloped her senses. She snuggled deeper into the pillow and wrapped the comforter tighter around herself, as though, trying to become one with the scent.

The next morning, all that was left was a wet pillow- a witness to the window of her soul, or what was left of it.

8

Life returning to normal – or so it seemed.
Months passed by as the freshly dug up earth returned to its normal compressed self and sprouts of green dotted the soil.

Of a lone figure, skipping her way, every night, to the neighbourhood and standing in front of a building.

9

The heavy footsteps slowly came to a pause.

She looked behind to that dark window then to the stars above. They were shining as brightly as that night in Japan.

Tonight is the last time, she promised.

10

The footsteps continued and echoed in stillness of the night.

The echoes seemed like reminders of the same promise she made ever since one year ago.






ps: i was inspired to write again, thanks to tokyospine (: Her stories are awesome! <3