Satiated | Yoonseok

-8-

I realise now that we are always holding hands. In the park, on the bus, walking about on the street, wherever it was we were going.

Usually we went nowhere, just in circles around the town after school. That was okay with me.

At first it was covered, as though you were ashamed to be with me. It was my hand stuffed inside your jacket pocket, nervously holding onto you like a child.

Slowly, slowly, you started to open up.
My fingers eventually left the four corners of your pocket, venturing into the dangers of the gelid air that froze every wrinkle and crevice of my hands.

Up to the bone, the chill atmosphere unapologetically made its way, seemingly careless about turning my fingers a deep purple. I was jaded at how much the cold swallowed me up, thawing and frosting until I lost all feeling in my face.

Your hand was always there to keep mine warm. It was always warm, so warm it almost burned me. Every time I touch you, it feels like a surprise. I always forget how different you are to me.

Even our blood is different.