To my Hoobaes

I sit in a solid room

You’re floating in a tomb.

 

Here I go again, distant from my present,

Traveling to a ‘passive’ torment.

It’s an unwritten taboo to mourn, for too long for someone,

But can’t it be bent so I can be torn, when it’s taking place far somewhere?

 

Here I live where an end will reach a beginning,

But you’re dead, where many speculate has no beginning,

You’re just

Gone. Missing.

 

You all held private identities, none I will be to judge, embrace or shake hands.

Unknown souls I will only know through the grip of Death.

It’s unfair to know you through only tragedy.

It’s unfair; I can’t speak this to you

through a barrier that is far from being living and death.

The only thing I can say is geuriwohaeyo.

 

I can’t bow to your graves and I can’t embrace your families.

That would be weird and it would be inappropriate because of the tone.

The only thing that can be done is wait to be judged,

because biases is what introduced me to your souls.

Sadly, it’s true; these same people brought me to you.

 

But I don’t cry because they cry, I don’t see them cry.

I cry because

you were all my hoobaes.

Young students, who could have sat and written this.

 

You could have seen tomorrow’s blossoms,

You could have heard tomorrow’s gossip,

You could have embraced tomorrow’s warmth of your parents.

You could have smelled tomorrow’s fresh rebirthing spring.

You could have tasted tomorrow’s spicy rice cakes.

But only I have a tomorrow.

 

It’s mean, the narration of your lives can never be finished, it

can never take effect to a tomorrow. Because you decided on a tomorrow,

but tomorrow was decided by something else. That’s why, I’m crying.

 

The only way I can save you, is by saving myself.

The only way I can save you, is imprinting through words.

The only way I could have saved you, was by grabbing your hand.

But I can’t.

 

All I can do, is write and listen to my Professor.

But that’s moving on, when you’re missing class.

 

Annyeong hoobaes, geuriwohaeyo.

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