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There are three people in the airport from the same writing camp.
We are all in different airplane terminals, separated.
I'll be the last to go.
The sky is such a pale blue.
The cloud is such a bright white.
Whenever I went to back to Korea, the sky cried.
Whenever I came back, it didn't.
It's not crying now when I am about to return to the same place.
Here, I learned to be more confident, less restrained.
I'm glad I took a risk in coming here.
Right now, in my dorm, it's probably all silent.
No footsteps, no creaky doors, no music playing, no sudden laughter.
The papers on our doors with our names on it, the highlighted names I stared at, trying to put an imaginary face, wondering what they were like, if we would have late night soirees, are ripped out, thrown away. Maybe a dark rectangular stain, where the tape was, which will be covered by memo boards and such by others.
My linens taken away with other blank linens, mixed up with them, my scent gone. They'll later emerge as clean, sterile, neatly folded and wrapped in plastic wrap. My dust will be gone.
My friends, with heart to hearts…
I want to say they'll remain as my friends forever.
I want to say we'll meet once a year and catch up and it'll be like the 3 weeks.
A Facebook wallpost here and there. That'll be it.
I must think of the lessons I learned here.
I 'll remember the late night deliveries.
I'll remember when we ran down the hill, across the dewy clover fields, the gravel wet and sticky, me always slipping on the same patch of mud.
The tempt of dessert.
Random outbursts of singing.
Good morning Baltimore.
I'll never ever see them.
And when I leave this seat to get to my flight, my body warmth will grow cold.
Someone else will sit here, not knowing that a girl and all her feelings have sat here.
I miss you guys.
I love you guys.
6 degree of separation, right?