We slowly make our way toward the shore where we’ll part ways at sea.
The sea is largely unknown to us, having only lived on land all our lives. There is no system for keeping time, but we become adults the moment we find out that we’re actually on an island. We try not to tell the children, but everyone will eventually know. Yes, we’re living on an island filled with dangerous, wild creatures but even more dangerous, man-made traps. We create fire and seek help. But it is inevitable that everyone touches shore.
For some strange reason, our bodies crave it. We spend all our lives conquering and cultivating the land, but we return to water. Consider yourselves lucky that you live on an island where holding hands means weakness but also strength. We do this often, helping each other cross over stumps or when telling stories, touching instead of speaking.
But when we drown, which we know we will, everyone is raising and flailing their hands up in the air and screaming. No one is holding hands then. Everyone dies alone. Everyone is an island, and no one truly escapes it.
젊은 우리 사랑 Our Young Love / 검정치마 The Black Skirts