Sumi's
The shop is quiet after closing. Tonight, I feel that the scent of lilies lingers longer than it should, which is making me more aware of my surroundings.I have been humming a lot without meaning to, a tune I used to hear in passing. Rhea curls nearby, the rhythm of her breathing steady as moonlight.Sometimes I wonder if sound itself is a kind of memory, something that clings so I don’t vanish into the quiet. Tonight, that feels like it’s enough.
Lately, the dreams don’t feel like dreams. They feel like little pieces of something real slipping through the cracks. I wake up with images I can’t quite place where I encountered this before, candles by the water, petals drifting, hands letting go of something they love. They don’t feel like scenes from my life, but they don’t feel distant either. It’s more like they’ve always been nearby, waiting for me to notice.I don’t really understand why they stay with me the way they do. I’ll be arranging flowers or wiping down the counter, and suddenly there’s this rush of feeling that doesn’t belong to anything I remember. It’s tender, and a little sad, but not in a frightening way.I just keep thinking: if these memories aren’t mine, why do they fit so easily inside my chest?
In the dream, it’s always the same lake. I’m sitting in the lake, sometimes with the water touching my feet, sometimes only absorbed. It looks still, but I can sense something moving underneath, like a quiet current of feelings passing through. I keep having this strange thought that I’m not just looking at the water, I’m looking through other people’s eyes, feeling things that happened long ago.I don’t know if that makes any sense. It feels like standing in the middle of a room full of stories I can’t hear clearly, only feel. There’s a warmth, and a weight, and this soft ache that isn’t exactly mine but doesn’t push me away either. Sometimes I catch myself wondering: Is it really only me there by the lake? Or am I just the one who happened to arrive last? I wonder how it would sound if I shared these thoughts with someone aloud.
She was there again tonight, across the lake. I can never see her face properly, just the way her hair catches the light and the way the space around her feels… clearer somehow. I always want to call out, but the sound never seems to leave my throat the way I intend. It’s like the lake takes my voice and holds it very gently before it can reach her.
I don’t understand who she is or why her presence feels different from everything else. The other images fade quickly, but she doesn’t... not really. Even when I forget the details, I remember the feeling of her being there. It’s almost like missing someone I haven’t met yet. I keep telling myself it’s just a dream, but part of me wonders if this is the beginning of something I’m supposed to remember, very slowly, one night at a time.