Folded in Blood

Dear Hyun-su,

I went back to the place where I last saw you. The bench is still there. The tree is taller now. But the silence—it’s exactly the same.

I left a crane for you. White paper. Red spots. Not paint.

They say blood is thicker than water. So I folded mine into the wings, a small cut on my thumb, a small promise in your name.

I don’t know what you did. Only that they didn’t like it. Only that they came. Only that you didn’t come back.

They think I don’t remember. They think I’m just a girl who plays with paper. But paper remembers. Paper keeps things.

Sometimes, when I walk to school, I feel like someone’s watching. But I walk anyway. Because you would want me to. Because you always told me: “Even a shadow needs a light behind it.”

I still leave cranes. Under benches. In windows. Behind books. Each one folded with something inside— A memory. A question. A hope.

I hope you’re alive. I hope you're free. And if not… I hope you know: I never stopped being your sister. And I never will.

Watch for the cranes. They still fly for you.

With all the love that fits in wings,
Your little sister