"The unspoken goodbye "

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Korea, 2024

A bustling city where everyone is immersed in their own affairs. Though small, the city never loses its noise. Smiling faces are rare; the talkers are many, the silent ones few.

The residents of this little city often perceive silence as something negative, as emptiness, as the absence of sound. This misunderstanding has spread because silence is known to so few. But silence is far from empty. It is filled with melodies, wrapped in mysterious fragrances, light, and love. Silence is not some imaginary concept; it is a reality that exists within each of us. Sadly, many fail to look inward to find the melody of silence, which is utterly still, infinitely silent, eternally quiet. No noise has ever entered there, no words can penetrate.

Sometimes, silence speaks louder than any articulated thought. Yet few see life in silence, which is why so many choose to remain silent.

It was night...

I'd like to write, "a starry, beautiful night, with shimmering stars covering the vast sky, and the moon shining as if it had glimpsed the golden rays of the sun scattered across the earth." But that wasn't the case.

The stars seemed to have left the moon in solitude, like the lonely young man who sat on his windowsill every night, gazing at the moon in admiration, as if it were the only thing giving him a sliver of hope to live. Every time he looked at the moon, a sense of peace enveloped his soul. Yet tonight, he was alone again. Only twenty years old, but the weight of his soul's pain had already burdened his shoulders.

The wind softly caressed his cheeks, attempting to dry the bitter tears that usually flowed from his ocean-like eyes every night. Only the gentle whistle of the wind and the rustling of dry leaves, hanging precariously from bent branches, could be heard. It seemed as if they might fall at any moment, gliding down to the ground. Leaning against the window, he wept silently, wishing to rid himself of all his thoughts, to disappear from this world, to feel nothing anymore.

His eyes still glistened with tears when a light rain began to fall, its drops descending from the sky like diamonds onto the slumbering world. The boy watched the indifferent raindrops in silence, his tears streaming as if they were the rain outside his window. Hours passed. It was nearly dawn.

The rain had ceased, leaving only wet traces on the ground. But the boy still couldn't tear himself away from his thoughts or find rest. Many nights had passed like this—suffering in silence, sleeplessly sitting and weeping, then falling asleep with tear-streaked eyes.

No one was there to hold him close, to wipe away his tears, and to say everything would soon be okay, that this was just a chapter in life that would eventually come to an end. He loved the darkness bathed in silence. He loved the starry, cloudy sky where only a sliver of the moon was visible.

He loved gazing at it because it was silent. He often wondered how many people were in love with the moon, just an ordinary celestial body, a simple sphere with no light of its own. He wondered how many had dedicated verses to it—or was he the only one who, with tearful eyes, looked at the moon and shared everything he desperately needed someone to hear? He often searched for reasons why he wasn't indifferent to the moon, as if it were a person he had never met but felt deeply familiar with.

Perhaps you think he was mad, though many people label anyone who chooses to remain silent as such.

He had curled up, resting his chin on his knees, and fallen asleep. At dawn, sunlight streamed through the window, filling the bedroom with light. Lying on the bed, draped in silk sheets, he was partially uncovered, and the sun's rays accentuated his features and smooth skin.

No matter how much he tried to hide from the sunlight to continue his peaceful slumber, he failed. With the dawn, he too awoke. As soon as he opened his eyes, he brought his hands to his face, cradled it in his palms, and sighed deeply.

He spent nearly fifteen minutes staring at the ceiling, tormented by restless thoughts, endlessly repeating the same question: "Why?" He glanced at the round clock on the wall—the hands were pointing to ten past six. Finally, he tossed the sheet aside, walked to the window, and drew the curtains, blocking the sun's golden rays from entering his room. As he approached the curtains, he noticed clouds had gathered thickly in the sky.

The chaotic state of his mind since the previous night drove him to step outside for a walk. The atmosphere inside the house felt oppressive, but even leaving the house was a challenge for him, as he felt vulnerable among people.

He descended the stairs and headed to the bathroom to take a cold shower.