By Kokoro Still
Some rooms do not forget.
Even as they remain never opened,
a presence lingers—
not behind the fusuma,
but in the air just before it.
We pass by,
quietly,
never sliding it open,
and still—
something inside seems to wait with Kokoro.
The Fusuma That Stayed Closed
For years, the fusuma stayed closed.
No one entered the room beyond it.
No footsteps crossed the edge.
Only light moved —
a gentle glow, softening near the floor,
spilling from underneath the panels
as if the room were still holding its breath.
Sometimes I paused in front of it.
I never opened it.
But I remember the silence
that made the rest of the hallway feel farther away.
It felt like something waited —
not behind the fusuma,
but within the stillness that gathered there.
Something Left Unspoken
I was still young when my uncle died.
We had met only once, and even then,
I remember more of the silence than the man himself.
No one in the family spoke about him.
Not in whispers.
Not in passing.
Just silence —
as if mentioning his name might stir something
better left undisturbed.
But I had questions.
Not about who he was,
but about the space he left behind.
Why no one entered that room.
Why it remained as it was, year after year,
like something paused.
And though no one explained it,
that silence itself became a kind of answer.
A Threshold of Dust
Years later, I found myself standing before that same fusuma —
the sliding panel that no one had touched.
The house had long since quieted.
There were no voices in the next room,
no clinking of teacups,
no radio playing softly in the kitchen.
Just me,
and the light that had begun to slip under the panel,
soft and low,
pooling faintly onto the wooden floor of the hallway.
I did not open it.
But I imagined the tatami beyond the panel,
perhaps still holding the trace of someone’s feet —
not recent, not sharp,
just enough to know that someone had once stepped in.
The Light That Waited
That morning,
a pale band of light gently wavered beneath the fusuma,
spreading softly across the wooden floor of the hallway.
At my feet,
it touched me — quietly,
and for a moment, did not move.
In that faint stillness,
I felt it once more —
that something still waits with Kokoro,
quietly,
on the other side of the room I never opened.
Featured image: The image was created by AI (ChatGPT)
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