열둘

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i remember when i lost it.

i'll forever remember it-- the sudden phone call, the long pause, the heavy breathing, the tears streaming down my face, the despair that could be felt through the phone.

"she's gone," my sister cried, "forever."

i remember dropping the phone on the floor, hearing a loud crack, and collapsing in the middle of my small living room. my knees gave out and hit the floor as if gravity pulled me down twice as much.

the bruises on my knees didn't hurt as much as the bruises in my heart.

i laid there for who knows how long, curled up in a ball and crying. once i had stopped, i laid there with tear stained cheeks, staring at my now broken phone screen.

it was like me. broken and useless.

i was such a bad daughter. i knew she was sick, but i still left home to the big city to pursue my dreams of becoming a pianist.

now, that dream was dead. i hadn't touched the piano in three months.

now, my mother was dead. i hadn't seen her in almost a year.

i should've gone back to visit, i should've called, i should've sent gifts.

but i didn't. because guess what i was too busy doing?

thinking about you.

hey jeon, my mom's dead.

are you dead, too?

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