so far away | yoonkook

day : 42

we're all guilty of something.

may it be the glance we risked to peek at the test paper beside ours or failing to tell our son that we loved them before he rushed into the school bus. we cannot escape this act.

when you leave for a while, people don't notice the way the transit feels bigger or how the café is less occupied. they walk on, fazed, focused on their will to survive and try to convince themselves that it's living that they're doing.

once they realize you've been gone for a month, maybe longer, that's when they turn their heads towards the seat you used to occupy. they feel uneasy, unassured of your whereabouts, slightly saddened that their routines have shifted. today they should've seen you but they didn't. you've caused the universe to tilt more to one side. and it's not supposed to be like that.

neighbors who never greeted you good morning are suddenly curious why they don't see you anymore. classmates you've lost contact with after graduation have asked your parents what the last thing you told them was before you left. your best friend breaks a rule and offers your composition to the local paper so it breathes in ink stains and grainy fiber. he'd told you that he's always wanted to see your writings given respect, always wanted you to have the recognition you deserve. he's a little foolish but you forgive him anyways.

suddenly, everyone's mourning over the disappearance of this boy. this kid with the bleached hair and undercut, with his unbelievably pale skin and big cheeks and almond eyes. his face is suddenly everywhere.

on the bottom right corner on the news headline. when you scroll through your timeline, his picture pops up and people are leaving messages for him if ever he decides to go online. copies of his graduation photo are nailed onto tree trunks and taped to walls.

a search party is suddenly dedicated for him. these people scatter themselves around the city, rummaging through bookstores, music stores, galleries, parks, even the cemetery, anywhere he might be hiding, anywhere that might contain his trace, a lead, a footprint on the ground, a handprint on the glass, a letter stuck between two branches, to find even a strand from his blond hair, making sure he's still out there.

they never really bothered you the way you wanted to be bothered when you were around. you can only hope that they don't feel so guilty now that you've returned. false sympathy gnawing at their guts, urging to make it right between them and you--the sick kid who thought it was a good idea to run away.

you come back to your house and the lights are on. it's almost three AM but the front porch is bright and the door's unlocked.

your mother is sleeping alone in the living room. the television is on and she's clutching a broadsheet in her hand. 'MISSING' is the first thing that catches your attention when you walk up to her. not the drying tears on her cheeks, not the crumpled shirt she had on, not the hair she had sloppily tied up into a ponytail. the first thing you see are the big bold letters printed on the paper she was gripping.

and oh boy, did your stomach twist. this made you feel guilty, didn't it?

you kneel beside her, sweep the bangs falling over her eyes to the side, and your fingers brush her temple ever so slightly but she stirs.

and when she sees you, you know her world's complete again.

she never really bothered you the way you wanted to be bothered when you were around. you can only hope she doesn't hate herself for being such a shitty mother towards you. you can only hope she forgives herself the same way she had forgiven you.

you go up to your room and everything's left untouched. from the curtains still pushed to one side, to the empty mug on your desk you drank coffee from, they've remained the same way since you last remember being here. and that window? nobody's hand had touched the clutch ever since.