secret garden.
​Kayla Lee

in our Secret Garden, you picked the tips of the wheat stalks, crumbling the grains into my hands, and flowers grew from the scars of my body, covering me in beauty that you strongly believed in; don’t worry about the clouds, hayeon, you whispered, pointing to the white-naped crane, it is god’s backdrop for all living things; the green moss would serve as our bed, as you explained your deep knowledge of the world, the stars and my future that seemingly aligned for you that i struggled to find meaning in; soup is the core of your body, hayeon, it is what warms your soul and makes you move, have some more, you poured your life into my body; your breath served as the eternal, spring winds that touched the corners of our space, as deer strolled across the patterns of your zen garden, but when your mind slowly slipped from my hands, i wasn’t sure what to do. The gates closed to our secret garden. I couldn’t feel your presence, and I could no longer hear the swishing of the wheat stalks. Four years ago, your mind was gone, it had disappeared, you did not remember our secret garden, you did not remember me, when you held my hands silently, surrounded by wires, cords, and a metal jungle, you asked me who I was, and I could only reply with, I am an extension of you, lost in the maze of your mind, 
our secret garden 
it is only now that I am able to map the location, drawing the outline to our end of the world. the smell of soup, the sound of cicadas, the beating of the bird’s wings, they all call to me, and as i step back onto our cobblestone path, surrounded by the wild, pastel blue hydrangeas, i wonder if the thorns that poke into my feet and the rain that surrounds my body are your memories, and if this is the path that leads me to our Secret Garden, even if i get cold and tired, will you wait for me?