If Habi hadn’t died Maybe this project wouldn’t have existed And maybe if I could’ve turned back time I could stop it And maybe if I hadn’t turned my back on seeing him until his final moments in the hospital If I had prayed harder Cared more Then maybe he would still be alive and I would see Halmeoni more often And maybe he would still scoop me up into one of those big hugs where he would spin me around and as I breathed in his unique scent I had a flashback on July 5th, a year after he died, A year after my birthday, A year after the pain and stupidity I cried in the bathroom I smelled HIM I remembered Now when I walk into that house I can barely smell him anymore In a few months it’ll just be a house And I’ll still cry over it I can’t go back there I can’t I can’t play on the swings he built anymore Or I’ll break Into a million pieces Into an empty shell And I can’t even remember his face anymore I’m at a fragile point And yet I’m harder to convince than ever That I can still go back to the house That I can still play That I can still sit on the seat of his tractor and remember how he taught me to drive in the middle of that field when I was four That I can still see his old home in Arkansas These artworks are for you, Habi In hopes that you’ll see them someday
Made with Tayasui Sketches Words: ‘He smelled of wood and game and Korean food’ ‘-and yet, I can’t remember his face anymore’ ‘And yet, I miss him still’
