I will return home when I am dead

Thirty years later, I'm dead, sometimes I miss my home, my yard, its lights, its plants and its sounds. In our apartment lives a lonely girl now, who is an employee of a pastry and jam factory.

She is not married and still does not intend to. Early in the morning, when the sun has not risen , she walks to the street and gets on the factory bus, an hour and a half later she enters a factory outside the city, she leaves there when it is almost night, she hates her life, she wants to emigrate, because the economy of this country is still sick and people with this amount of work have not gotten anywhere yet.

When I see her I remember my youth, when I was still single, I was exactly like her, in the early morning I would get on the bus and go to the factory, which was an hour and a half away, and I would sleep all the way, how many crashes and how many people were killed every day along the way, and I would sleep all the way regardless of everywhere and everyone.

The girl is more tasteful than me. She puts a sofa next to the window facing the yard and on fridays listens to music in that corner until noon . She takes good care of the plants in the garden and I am happy about that.

Photo link : https://www.leemikyung.com/project/prugio

I visit my house every day to see my lights, my sounds and my plants, The plants that I planted them with my own hands the first day we moved into the house. All these years I raised them like my children, how can I let them go.

I drew all the plans of the house and the yard myself and my husband gave them to the architect to build our house as it is my dream, now how can I leave it and go.

I sit in the yard for hours and watch the dance of lights in the branches of the trees, remembering when I was alive, and drinking the evening coffee in garden to enjoy the dance of lights and the sound of birds at the same time.

Photo link: https://agentpekka.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/08/AP_Owen_Gatley_Casper_WAVE_2_2x.jpg

Me and my husband grew old in this house, what days we spent on it, what joys and sorrows, what separations and arrivals. When I come home, I see all the lights and shadows of my loved ones , even I see the shadow of my cat walking around the house and when she wants to sneak into the garden, I hear my own voice calling out to her : "Loosi"

I hear all the sounds , sounds of my family, my friends and our parties, laughs , fights , cries, daily conversations, all and all and finally I regret every single moment I did not live. I would like to tell this to the girl, but the living do not see any goodness from the world of the dead.