Joseph Hong, A Love Story

A Love Story Joseph Hong

Do you remember back in the day, when all we’d do was meet up and play inside the forest? After school, we’d run straight to the field out back, and I’d pick out the finest of my stick stash, then give you the second-best of these, and we’d dive deep into the green embrace of the woods.

Being with you was what I looked forward to, glances of glee almost impossible to miss, but nothing beat the feeling of us being inside the forest. Climbing trunks of ancient, wrinkled oaks, wondering if they’d hold us, occasionally falling to the ground, discovering that they couldn’t; the trees would laugh with us as we made fools of ourselves.

Ducking beneath low-hanging branches, twigs crackling beneath us, we’d talk for hours, navigating the foliage with swords made of wood. We’d watch deer stalk through the brush, chase after rabbits startled by our footsteps, and feel the rays of sunlight streaming through the cracks of the canopy above.

Spring led to summer, then came fall. The leaves lost their lively green, giving way to a lifeless brown. The chill of winter crept through the oaks we scaled, and before we realized it the snow was upon us. The flakes

were soft and light at first, but soon grew heavy, muffling our voices until we could not see or hear and grew further and further apart, lost.

Eight years later and I haven’t heard a word from you. Have we grown old, become wrinkled oaks, in the years we’ve been apart? Would I break under the weight of you within my arms? A word unsaid, a letter unfinished, and a home left behind. If only I’d kept your hand tightly wrapped in mine, if only I had made us promise that one day, no matter what, we’d meet up and play inside the forest.