That summer afternoon, spent beside the being who had become the heaviest in my world, with the verdure of the season deepening within the confines of my lone space, self-isolated from others. Solitude was no longer an option for me. A life without Woonu only promised loneliness.

I lost my family and experienced the loneliness that lingered in their absence, living a lonesome life without holding anyone close to my heart, stewing in my solitude. Loneliness and solitude cannot coexist. Only those who have chosen solitude know of this truth.

Solitude is a blank, and loneliness is a dearth that seeks to be filled. Because solitude is closer to nonpossession than it is to resignation, while loneliness is like a jar with a leaky bottom. That imperfectly solid blank of mine, built from my fleeing of loneliness, became desperate to contain a whole being.

Woonu, having felt the rain at the tip of his fingers, arm stretched beyond the eaves, suddenly straightened his legs and leaned his upper body forward.

“Huh? A green frog!”

“Where? Are you sure you didn’t see wrong?”

“There, over there! Oh, oh, it’s jumping!”

“Oh, there really is one.”

“Where did it come from? Has it always lived here?”

I quietly gazed at the side of his face, his mouth agape with a bright smile adorning it.

Where did you come from? Where did you come from for it to feel as though you’ve always been here?

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