embedded under his skin | w.jh

[i am you]

「1/3」

While your toes were already trying to slip your shoes off your heels, your fingers reached out to find the light switch. With a scarcely audible crack the low illumination in your narrow hallway went on, you held the moment for a second and quietly took a deep breath before you took one step further into the room which constituted your small flat. You payed monthly with the little money you made, every first Monday, after payday.
You let your bag glide to your feet and your jacket slide down to your shoulders.
The warmest coat you owned wasn't made for winters like these but you didn't have enough money to buy a warmer one, you weren't in the position to allow yourself that luxury anyways.
You worked hard.
You were tired of your all day routine; the same faces you had to look at and the same lips mouthing the same words everyday.

When you started at the magazine's office you were in cheerful spirits to finally write and publish the articles you always wanted to, articles that went further than the borders of countries and continents. But you were forced to realize that, in the perspective of the publishers, you wouldn't be seen in first place without a graduation certificate.
And: You grew up.
Dreams of being in the world's greatest demand were and stayed just dreams. You knew that - you knew that for too long now - so long that you even regretted to ever had those fantasies drawn out in your mind.
Since Middle School things did not work out the way they should have but you were not the only one with barriers to break down and lows to climb up again; it's just that you were the one who gave up midway.

The cold recklessly crept in between your toes, up to the tip of your nose. And you welcomed it as an excuse to distract yourself from the thoughts you were not good at to let go.
For the first time this day you granted yourself a glance at your phone but, if you were honest, you didn't even want to know what was going on or what others did.
The thin crack on your touchscreen had gotten longer due to the temperatures that had dropped drastically today, on the apparently coldest day of the year. The fissure now streaked the inner camera of your phone, however, you didn't feel like it was that great of a loss, since you barely used it anyways.
Beneath the time designation were less
notifications than you expected. Among these two calls from the man who was the reason you came to Korea.
You stared at the screen for a while - you didn't know why, because he called almost everyday - though, you stared at the letters, not really sure what to think.
The calls had went in one and half an hour ago, fifteen minutes apart.
Just then he called again.
Because you had turned off the alarm this morning your phone just rang in silence, without buzzing, without giving you the idea to answer it.
You didn't want to talk; especially not to him.
So you threw your mobile into the sheets of your bed and turned around, already pulling the shirt over your head.

You turned the key in the lock twice - without knowing; You weren't concentrated and therefore forgot that you did before.
While the hot water drummed onto your back you were able to scan yourself in the mirror on the opposite side of the wall; small trickles ran down your cheeks and fell into the shower tub as even smaller drops.
Your hair had gotten long since you left your hometown. Your skin had become white, your freckles had faded and your eyes had gotten dark, listless. You even found some hardly noticeable wrinkles around your eyes and suddenly there was nothing more you wished for but the shafts of sunlight which used to fall through the branches of the juneberry-trees.
Those your mother had cherished in your backyard belonging to your house, your first home.

On good days of summer when the ice would melt in the shadow and the trees wore the berries like plum-black accessories on their green satin-leaf-dresses you used to help pick every single dark fruits. Tradition was to preserve them and keep them as a sweetener for the curry.
Your guests had always been curious about the unique taste in your mothers dish. Your mother was a woman of mind full of secrets, sealed tight by a warm smile.
The people in Kiryu were friends rather than just neighbors, they were suave on the outer country side and bantering in the city. Kiryu shared the warm and dreamy sunsets with the rest of Japan as one of it's character traits.
As a kid you were sincere that there was no sunset similar to Kiryu's.
And you were right.
Since you left you had never seen a sunset as beautiful as in Kiryu.
But Kiryu was not enough for your family; you were sent to a Korean High School in Tokyo's heart. Between uncountable strangers you took step by step - several at a time - not knowing which ground your feet hit and where the path led to.
People pushed and pulled on you from different sides to attempt and fit you in a costume which was two sizes too big for you. So the fabric had not fallen from your body only once but as many times as there were heads on the train from Tokyo back to Kiryu. It had left you exposed, floating in a mass of judging eyes.