Door#86.1 "Make The Impossible, Possible"

When I was young, there was a woman who I called "mom." She was so kind and she always spoke gently. Her hazelnut eyes crinkled in delight every time he shouted my name.

"Eugene. Eugene."

But even though she always calls me 'my son', I never felt the affection of a mother from her. They say that a mom's arms are more comforting than anyone else, that she's a home and she has unselfish desire to give before her own. However, the love I received from her was more like a pity. She looked at me as if I'm a merciful character in the movie, like a child who's out of her world. Therefore, a day came when I stopped calling her "mom."

One spring day, where buds bloomed into colorful pieces of arts, someone visited our house. It is a familiar looking woman together with a young girl.

It was my first time seeing them, yet it didn't feel foreign. Was it because it felt like staring in front of two mirrors?

"Go on, Eugene. Greet the