i. komatsu somi
you were a boxed in child, born of high praise and high expectations. you were born with a bruised rib and daisies growing in your system. you were caged, imprisoned like a dangerous animal in a room with a heavily carved wooden door and windows with moss and ivy's and thorns growing just to choke you.
the daisies that grew in you were plucked, soon enough fashioned into a bouquet that they used to morph you into something you are not.
you didn't know how lovely you are. they didn't let you know. they didn't let you know how the world was like, how the breeze in the summers felt like, how the skies shone a nice baby blue in the springs, how the children laughed as their hands were intertwined to form a united ring.
you are komatsu somi, fashioned out of marble with rough edges and a knife with a handle carved with roses, fashioned into a beige skin- a statue. an accident. a stoic creature of two foreign lips colliding. an outcome of a night of spilled wine on a white dress and the thunder of the storm outside that night. boom, boom, boom.
it wasn't your fault that you weren't perfect like your parents wanted you to be. you tried with black and blue knuckles and blurred lines and white noise just to make them proud. you tried in vainful ways to make them see you in the light you wanted to shine, but a forced smile was all you could ever pull out of them.
5 and confused, you once heard your mother plead for your father to make you stay in seoul with her, as his brash pulling at your mother's arm made you feel stuck on the hardwood floor, pretty lilac dress striked with dirt and tugged rips that you gained a few hours before.
you knew it was wrong, so so so so wrong- the way your mother cried and sobbed and begged and said don't take my somi away.
10 and growing, you finally understood why you hadn't seen your father in almost three years. sure, you thought it was just a trip that needed him to separate from you and your mother at first and he even visited you every twice a month for the first two years, but it seemed like he understood that you were better off growing without him.
the words don't take my somi away ended your childhood, the days filled with blowing bubbles, pretty lilac and beige dresses, playing princess and knight with your father. and it was sad, the fact that your childhood was ruined even before it began.
you were distraught, no- beyond distraught. you were frustrated, furious, confused. you thought he loved his family, you thought he loved his life in korea already. but then you found out that his heart still belonged to someone else. upsettingly enough, that someone isn't your mother, and it wasn't even you. after all, he only stayed with your mother because you were born.
it hurt to admit, that your father didn't love you enough that he would stay with you through your ups and downs. now all you had from him were postcards from his hometown of osaka and, ironically, the wrapper of your mother's favourite japanese sweets tucked away in his old dresser with your childish handwriting stuck on a piece of tape.
his letters still smell like your home.
15 and blooming, you experienced your first kiss with a boy named byun baekhyun in the third floor hallway. his lips were chapped against your soft and red tinted ones, hands brushing on the skin on your rose patterned arms. he was sweaty but oh, no. did he undeniably smelled like lavender soap and your childhood and spring.
his lips felt right molding into yours, your body becoming a part of his as you were in his arms felt right. baekhyun just got out of his soccer practice that time, he was upset because the little shit that is do kyungsoo kicked the ball to his face, and now he was sporting a lilac bruise under his right eye. it looked pretty on his stoic features, you thought as he hugged you and kissed you atop the head.
