5.0 My Summer My Lady (Extra) - A Story About a Married Teacher Who Becomes Obsessed With Her Female Student

My Summer My Lady The returning summer, with its towering clouds, brings along a sense of nostalgia. Summer, from its faint beginnings, shone brightly with intensity. I lower my eyes, bathing in its sharp, slender light, which seems unending. The sun's rays scorching my skin and the warmth of my breath escaping through my slightly parted lips feel just as hot. It’s as if I am melting into a part of summer, losing the sense of where I end and summer begins. During the season of summer, I gathered so many things. One by one, I let go of what I had been holding onto. It wasn't because of any fate or coincidences—I knew that better than anyone. I chose to take hold of what I thought was beautiful. And I released what I could no longer see that way. What I left behind in that past summer won’t ever return, no matter how many seasons with similar faces come back around. Even as I accept this inevitability, the memories occasionally ache like old wounds. They weren’t all bad, so recalling them is not unbearable. But neither were they all good, and so each time I remember, I feel the ground beneath me shift, as though the things anchoring me come loose. I was timid enough to always regret hurting others, and yet reckless enough to have done such audacious things. Now, having passed through that summer, I think about what remains. I realize my eyes, lowered against the glare, have long since closed. Along with the light brushing my shoulders, I am under the illusion that I'm disappearing into summer itself. Yet, the warmth carried by the lukewarm wind is lifted from my skin, leaving me behind as if it were only natural. Time is a curious thing. It moves lightly and surely, never once halting in its pace. Yet, when we try to grasp it, it grows unbearably heavy, impossible to hold. Just before opening my eyes, I feel as though the vivid, sun-scorched scent of the sea reaches me. Once more, summer approaches. Each time I circle back to this season, I— I cannot help but remember my first love at the age of twenty-seven.