I grabbed my round blue glasses so I could look for a long lost 사과 blush.
Was hoping to locate that 5th grade moment when rhyming love letters flew out of my marble note book and into confused hands. The timid sensation of purified water rinsing my face. It’s unlike the cinnamon and ginger river that currently flows through my roots. I’m curious about where it’s laying; probably on a stretcher in P.S. 314’s yard.
After checking jean pockets, backpacks, drawers and a wooden bookshelf…I think I’ll give up. My cheeks will go without the glow of jovial innocence. Drive through Korean streets with high beams on. Divide cool Jangsu air with an ample spot light which will sink into its many foggy mountains then disappear into browning maple trees.
My nightlight was removed by failed exploits and a lack of new emerging intimate challenges. Honestly, I’m not really trying to find it because if I was…it would bloom or at least emerge. A simple lie in the mirror makes it easy to apply this grim cover up. I’ve got a hygge lead stride that covers my lack of effort and justifies the complaint grin.