[Cha Eun-woo] A Thousand Paper Cranes

“Back then, at least we dared to use the word ‘love’ without having to take responsibility or think about the future.”

A summer evening between bouts of plum rain unfolded, like clouds spreading from old, blurred teardrops on Yun Xuan stationery.

Faint light slipped silently through the gaps in his shirt. His calm face was bathed in a secret love on the verge of coming undone.

That moment was probably as distinct as a crease in a sheet of paper. You could hear time rustling as it folded up the intertwined past you shared.

“My dad says I can’t date before college.”

You gazed at the vast expanse of shimmering ash.

“You’re the unexpected complication in my life.” You heard his tender, rueful sigh.

Your breaths tangled, burning hot, like falling snow melting into the smoky red of dusk.

That sound was unbearably hoarse.

We even lost the colors of twilight,

when the blue night fell,

no one saw us holding hands.*

Let the unspoken love leave a blank space in our youthful shells.

Let our warmth tug against each other through a gentle, long night.

Let the thousand paper cranes rest forever in that fleeting rainy season.

Premise: Moving toward Cha Eun-woo