Namjoon: 15 May Year 20

When we had no place to go, the storage classroom was a hideout for us. I stacked a few chairs upright as I walked across the room. Since it's being thrown out anyway, I picked up a desk that had fallen over and dusted it off with my hand. When things are "the last," they make people sentimental. Today is the last day I'm coming to school. It was decided two weeks ago that I'd move. I didn't know if I'd ever be able to come back. I might not even be able to see my friends again.

 

I folded a piece of paper in half and placed it on the desk. Even though I was ready with pencil in hand, time passed as I continued to not know what to write. While I was hastily writing some pointless words, the pencil lead snapped. You need to survive. When the graphite broke, scribbled words that I don't remember writing covered the smudged paper. Between the jet-black powder and the scribble, dirty stories like poverty, parents, younger siblings, and moving were spread out. 

I crumpled up the paper, put it in my pocket, and then stood up. As I pushed the desk, dust filled the room. I intended to turn around and leave, but instead exhaled on the dirty window and left three words in the fog of my breath. Leaving a goodbye didn't seem like enough, and even if I said nothing at all they would get the message. See you later. Rather than being a promise, it was a wish.

 

@shootinghearts_