Three in the morning and I am still awake, working hard at digesting and silently throwing away the remnants of my guilt down the chute. But that’s another story for another place. 

And while bringing out the trash, the typical short walk turned into one too long and too unfamiliarly familiar. Maybe it was the wind and the sudden chill in the air. Maybe just there and then, time and space conflated and condensed into the turn around the corner, the open space between the doors to the dormitory buildings and the blustering winds of autumn in South Korea. Who knows how time and space works? Who knows how these ephemeral feelings work?

Only because when I opened my doors, something flew into my eye. And there I stood, one hand clutching on to trash, and the other between my glasses and eye. It so happens the winds feel right, and the air feels tight and we’re back to the past. It’s a memory that gets less and less clear by the day; one that really has no images, but still worth keeping.

So is it a past that has already solidified into my time-line, or is it a past that is slowly disintegrating?