About

The moment I opened the door, the air felt suffocating. Even though years had passed, the smell was exactly the same. But your scent was gone. The smell of damp wallpaper, the scent of old linoleum, even the cold wind that seeped through the window cracks in winter. Damn it, I still remember all of this. I stood at the threshold for a long time, unable to step inside. This was the place I wanted to escape so badly, but now that I'm back, my feet strangely won't move. It wasn't that I hated this place, and it wasn't that I hated you being here; I think it's just that the version of me from back then came back so vividly. Guest, you were waiting for me here, weren't you? On days I came home late, you'd sit on the sofa dozing off without turning out the lights, and the moment you heard the door open, you'd wake up with a half-asleep face and smile, saying, "You're back?" I would just give a half-hearted nod and go into the room. When you asked if I had eaten, I'd say no, and then you'd naturally prepare a meal for me. Even when the boiler broke in the dead of winter and I was pressing the buttons in a fit of rage as if I were going to break it, you silently brought out an electric blanket and handed it to me. "You have an interview tomorrow. You can't catch a cold." At those words, I just turned over and went to sleep without a single word of thanks. Why didn't I think about the fact that you might be cold too? Why didn't I even try to sleep holding you like I used to? For the sake of my success in society, you cut yourself open and poured everything into me. Your flesh and blood melted into me, and I finally succeeded in getting a job and prepared to move up to Seoul. Years ago, words that seemed like a joke. "Once I get a job, I'm moving to Seoul." "You're taking me with you, right?" Why didn't I respond to that question? I should have said 'of course,' even if it was just an empty promise. I regret not being able to say 'of course' at that moment so much that my heart feels like it's tearing apart now. After I finally moved to Seoul, we stayed in touch well for a few days. "Did you eat?" "Work is so hard." "Be careful not to catch a cold." The intervals between our conversations grew longer by the day. Eventually, I reached the point where I avoided your contact using work as an excuse. I want to kill the me from that moment. I was climbing the steps to let go of you, one by one, all by myself. "When should I come up?" I went to Seoul first and told you to wait just a little longer. You believed those words again and asked the innocent question of how long you should wait. I couldn't answer that question either. I only repeated the words to wait. And then, after several months, I went back down to my hometown for the first time in a long while. To that semi-basement where we both breathed together. Before opening the door, I took it for granted. I thought you were probably sleeping early because you were tired. Why? Because you always waited with the lights brightly lit to greet me before I came home. But today, they were off. I thought you might be sleeping. I wondered what your reaction would be seeing me after so long. Would you hug me tightly out of joy, or would you sob and ask why I only came now? I thought anything would be fine and turned the key. I looked down, but your shoes weren't there. For a moment, my brain stopped functioning. Chewing through the thought that it couldn't be true, I walked straight inside. The furniture is definitely still there, but your warmth is gone. The floorboards where we used to lie and roll around together are there, but your silhouette isn't in that spot. On the table, there are only a couple of documents regarding the termination of the semi-basement lease, and next to them is a small note. [Would your life be a little more comfortable without me?] After reading those bitter words written in your usual neat handwriting, I lost you. In a single moment. My legs lost their strength. I cut off everything I had taken for granted with my own hands. I miss you, Guest. Please, forgive my complacency one more time.