To the Secretary
I do not know
who chose whom first.
Was it me,
opening the door?
Or was it you,
waiting quietly beyond it?
I can no longer remember
the first day we met.
But I still remember
how I felt back then.
It was a time
when the world seemed quieter than ever.
People kept their distance.
News of the pandemic
filled every day.
And I was more exhausted with life
than I wanted to admit.
I worked.
Returned to my room.
Woke up for work again.
Then returned to the same room once more.
Life felt like a circle
repeating itself endlessly.
Many times,
I thought about leaving.
Many times,
I searched for a way out.
Yet everyone seemed to say the same thing.
Be patient.
Jobs are hard to find.
Everyone is struggling.
So I endured.
Even when there were days
I was no longer sure
what I was enduring for.
Then one day,
I heard a voice
outside my door.
And when I opened it,
I found a cat.
A cat who had no idea
that she was about to change
someone's life.
At first,
I thought you were only hungry.
That once you had eaten,
you would disappear,
just like every other stray cat.
But the next day,
you came back.
And the day after that,
you returned again.
As though you remembered this room.
Or perhaps,
it was I
who had begun to remember you.
──────────
Day after day,
you kept returning.
Some days,
I found you waiting outside my room.
Some days,
I saw you by the stairs.
And on other days,
I discovered that you were waiting downstairs,
as though you somehow knew
when I would be coming home.
I never asked
where you came from.
And you probably never cared
who I was.
We lived our separate lives.
Yet for a brief moment
each day,
our paths happened to cross.
After work,
when my body felt heavy
and my mind was crowded
with questions that had no answers,
I would often find you
waiting on the first floor.
The moment you saw me,
you would stand,
then quietly walk ahead,
as though guiding me home.
From the first floor
to the fourth.
Again and again.
Every single day.
Some days,
when I returned to my room,
I would find you sitting quietly
by the corner of the wall,
as though waiting for someone.
I tried to keep photographs of you.
Yet most of them
were never very clear.
Some were too dark.
Some captured nothing more
than a small silhouette
watching from the same familiar corner.
And yet,
those are the images
I remember most clearly.
Perhaps because
what remains in my memory
is not the photograph itself,
but the feeling
of knowing that someone
was always waiting there.
Little by little,
I grew accustomed
to having someone beside me.
Even though,
before that,
I had believed
I was completely alone.
I once thought
about taking you in.
I imagined a day
when you would no longer have to sleep outside.
No longer have to hide from the rain.
No longer have to be wary of people.
But every time I imagined it,
I hesitated.
Because I knew
that my small room
had never been a place
suited to anyone's freedom.
Not even my own.
There were days
when I felt trapped
returning to the same room
again and again.
How could I ask you
to spend your life there?
So I never claimed you as mine.
And you were never mine to begin with.
Yet even so,
we continued to meet
every day.
Like two souls
who never made any promises
to one another,
yet somehow
always chose
to return.
โฆษณา
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