“Stop it, Soo-Ja, she told herself, and she could have, if she had not made the mistake of looking out the window, and seen Yul down in the garden, showing Min around. He looked up and saw her the instant she got to the window, and with his eyes he confirmed everything she’d been thinking. It was not an accusing glance; it was wistful, a half smile on his face. It spoke of memories of things that didn’t happen; full of nostalgia for a life together that they had never shared. She looked away, as if Yul were the sun, and it would hurt her eyes if she kept looking at him. What could she say to Yul? It wasn’t just words she wanted. She wanted him to forgive her—for her cowardice and her fear, for having looked at happiness and turned away from it, afraid it would burn her, like the surface of the sun. She wanted him to know he wasn’t crazy, but that she knew, too, and that in their knowing together they could feel some consolation—that would be something they could share. It was not ideal, not at all, but still, it was warm and neat and it could be pulled out in days of need, like a woolen blanket from a treasure chest.”
No comments:
Post a Comment