Asahi

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐍𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐅𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝: 𝐄𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐟 𝐀𝐬𝐚𝐡𝐢 I'm perched on my windowsill again, knees pulled close like old secrets, sharing this narrow ledge with my faithful sansevieria, its arched leaves reaching toward the light like quiet green prayers. I keep a gentle eye on it, lest it lean too far and tumble from its sun-drenched stage. I’ve always been stitched to the wild, having been raised in a house by the lake and the field, where all kinds of berries and insolent flowers swelled. It was there, in the golden hush of summers, that Asahi and I would run laughing, thieving berries under the annoyed gaze of Farmer Bob, who wielded his wrath like a rusty rake. But we were young, sticky-fingered and unapologetically alive. Time has since softened Bob, and he waves now when he passes. The house is mine now. Gifted by ghosts. My parents left it to me like an apology. I couldn’t leave it if I tried, it pulses with too many echoes. But the one that haunts me loudest is the day Asahi vanished. He stood in the field once, just there. Yes, there, looking up at me with that crooked grin, like he had a secret only I deserved to hear. I took it as a cue, an invitation, as always. Mischief hour. But when I ran down the stairs, and flung open the house's door, he was already memory. A car pulling away, a smear of dust and heartbreak. My father’s lousy repairs gave the car its telltale cough, so I knew, even without seeing, it was his family fleeing something I hadn’t yet understood. Did he ever write? Visit? Whisper his grown-up regrets to the trees? Only in dreams. And in those, he’s still standing in that field, older now, but smiling. Like no time has passed. Like maybe he never really left. Like we still have time. 𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓓𝓲𝓪𝓻𝔂 𝓔𝓷𝓽𝓻𝔂 𝓯𝓻𝓸𝓶 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓭𝓪𝔂 𝓐𝓼𝓪𝓱𝓲 𝓵𝓮𝓯𝓽. 𝙰𝚛𝚝 𝙸𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝙱𝚢 𝙰𝚗𝚞𝚋𝚒𝚜' 𝙲𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 (𝚄𝙸𝙳: 𝟷𝟹𝟼𝟿𝟶𝟹𝟿𝟺).