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“My fingers numb, I reached into my robe, and it took a while for me to feel the crinkled paper I was looking for. I slipped it out and unfolded the sheet on which I had drawn my brother's face. His lightly shaded eyes, his round face, his timid smile. He belonged to the past, a place he would never leave, not even to come looking for me. I kissed the sheet and then tore it in half, then in half again, the paper hissing with each motion. I opened my fingers and let the torn pieces be swept away like moths on the wind.” — June Hur
My fingers numb, I reached into my robe, and it took a while for me to feel the crinkled paper I was looking for. I slipped it out and unfolded the sheet on which I had drawn my brother's face. His lightly shaded eyes, his round face, his timid smile.
He belonged to the past, a place he would never leave, not even to come looking for me.
I kissed the sheet and then tore it in half, then in half again, the paper hissing with each motion. I opened my fingers and let the torn pieces be swept away like moths on the wind.