Archive of Our Own

Hi Jjong, 

I’m not quite sure how to begin this letter. It’s not the first time I’ve poured my heart out onto these worn linen sheets, only to find myself lost in tears again. But maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be—hesitating, feeling unsure, as if the right words are just beyond reach. You know, I was like that when I was with you too. Always shy, always careful with what I said, afraid to be too open. The one thing I was never uncertain about, though, was my love for you. Even now, years after I last saw your smile light up the room, I can promise you this—my feelings for you have never faded, never dimmed, and they certainly haven’t disappeared. 

Right now, I’m far away from everyone—our friends, our colleagues, even my own family. It’s not by choice, I want you to know that. Still, I have to admit, sometimes it’s not so bad to pull away, to let my thoughts drift away from everything familiar. In this case, it’s the military service I’m required to complete that keeps me occupied, forcing me to focus on something other than the world I left behind. 

But, as you might have guessed, this distraction hasn’t been very effective. Every evening, I find myself spilling my worries and fears onto these worn pieces of cloth, like a silent confession of my paranoia. Right now, in front of me, there’s a wide, grassy clearing, but my eyes can’t see beyond the edge of the field—the light is too dim. Above, the Moon hangs high in the sky, casting its silver glow over the distant waters that surround the field. Yet tonight, the usual swarm of twinkling stars that should accompany the moonlight is nowhere to be seen. And a small part of me—the innocent part, the hopeful part—can’t help but wonder if it’s because of you. 

My eyes settle on the distant outline of the Han River, and without meaning to, my thoughts drift back to you. In our younger, more carefree days, we spent so many quiet afternoons stretched out on that grass-colored blanket of hope—feeding wild ducks, talking about the little things that felt so big back then. Trivial teenage worries, dreams too large for our pockets, and laughter that filled the spaces between us. One of the things I miss most is our picnics beneath the harsh, golden sun of mid-July, and the way we used to laugh together beneath a shower of cherry blossom petals, as if the world existed only for us in those moments. 

Even though nearly two years have passed since you disappeared from this world, I still find myself hopelessly, unwaveringly in love with you. I’m still completely wrapped up in you, to the point that I can barely hold two thoughts together without your memory rising up between them. You’re everywhere, even in silence. I can no longer think clearly—my mind drifts endlessly, stubbornly, always back to you. Even when I try to resist, my imagination finds its way to you, again and again, as if you’re the only path it remembers how to follow. 

In my little utopia, I hold you close. I kiss you, I touch you, and in return, a thousand loving caresses wrap around me like silk. In my heart, you remain—always, eternally. I can still feel you there, settled gently in the deepest part of me. And yet, I often find myself wondering what will become of me, now that you’ve taken my reason with you. 

More and more, I find myself thinking: this isn’t really living. I’ve never been like this before. You consumed everything I once believed in so easily, so quietly. And now, I feel foolish—but happy—the moment I let myself think of you. I spin in circles, as if caught in a beautiful dream where a single second stretches into a thousand years. 

To be overwhelmed by love. To feel it in every breath, in every pore. To live only for love—and to watch yourself unravel under its weight, caught in a thousand invisible threads of longing and sorrow. That’s what I built my existence around, back when you were by my side. 

We never truly know when it will be the last time we see someone. If we did, it would almost be too easy, because then we’d know how to prepare. We’d follow a script, some unwritten guide on how to say goodbye the right way. And I think I would have followed it. I would have held you tighter that day, for longer. I would have warmed you with my arms and memorized your smile more carefully—stretched it out for just a few more seconds, tried to freeze it in my mind forever. 

Since that cold December, I’ve imagined dozens of different versions of how it all could have gone. Hundreds of ways I might have changed the ending. But no matter how the story shifts, one thing never changes: the longing to hug you again, to make you smile again. That desire stays the same in every version. Because your happiness—your real, quiet happiness—has always meant everything to me. 

You were never someone who was simply happy. Not completely, at least—not from the time I met you. Your joy came in fragments, in flashes. It lived in single, fleeting moments. And in that, we were always alike. 

Ours were strange worlds, weren’t they? Two realities built on entirely different ideals—yet somehow, two lives that still felt congruent, compatible in a way that didn’t need explanation. You know, “congruent” is a word that comes from Latin. It means many things, but one of them is “to meet”, or “to come together”. And that’s exactly what we did—we met. But neither of us, in the end, really managed to stay. 

It’s strange, too—how there always seems to be the perfect word when I’m thinking about you, or about us. But whenever someone asks me to talk about you, I freeze. My mind goes blank, and I can’t seem to find anything that feels worthy of who you were. I try to be strong, to be composed, to act like I’ve moved on, like everyone else seems to be doing. I put on the face of someone who’s healing. 

On top of your absence, I still have to deal with all the little and not-so-little problems life throws at us—the ones every human stumbles into sooner or later. And it’s awful, Jjong, because every moment that I’m not keeping my mind distracted with something light or ridiculous, I feel like I’m on the edge of breaking. Like I might lose control or just collapse under the weight of everything. Even my own body feels tired of carrying me—it’s as if it can barely handle the burden of just being me anymore. 

You were always the one who picked up my broken pieces. You didn’t just glue them back together—you made them better. Stronger. I remember how sometimes you’d scold me, frustrated that I let myself fall apart again—over something silly or something deep—but you still gathered every piece, every time, with the same care. That’s why I want so badly to hold you again. Just to feel, even for a moment, what it was like to be safe in your presence. But we both know that’s just a wish I keep hidden, folded away in some quiet part of me where reality can’t reach. 

Coming back to us. Right now, in front of me, there’s a small photograph of you—captured during one of those rare, luminous moments of pure joy. As I stare at your face on the glossy surface, I can’t help but think how beautiful you looked that day. Your bleached hair fell in soft, tousled waves against the warm amber of your skin, and your eyes were glowing. Bright, sparkling, full of that unique energy only you ever had. In that moment, you were completely alive, and I was lucky enough to catch it. 

I remember clearly when I took that photo. It was way back in 2014. We were only just beginning our relationship then, still keeping everything hidden, just between us. That day, we’d gone out on one of our quiet, secret dates. It was midwinter, bitterly cold, but not even the freezing air could dull the joy we felt. We were young, in love, and untouchable. 

We went ice skating—your idea—and of course, I was a disaster. You offered to help me without hesitation, smiling as you reached for my hand. I was unsteady, clumsy as ever, but the warmth that passed between our palms was enough to thaw every inch of me. Suddenly, I didn’t care about the cold. And I loved you even more for not laughing at my ridiculous falls—for holding me with kindness instead of amusement. 

Later, we wandered the streets of Seoul hand in hand, snow clinging to our hair, our breath clouding the air between us. We ended the day wrapped in silence, holding two steaming cups of hot chocolate like they were treasure. 

These are the moments I miss the most. 

You know, I often find myself thinking about how unexpected our meeting really was. It’s strange, isn’t it? How something so life-changing can happen on such an ordinary day. I mean, who would’ve thought that on some random day, in some random week, in some random year... I’d meet your smile? Who could’ve known that your gaze would find mine—and melt something inside me I didn’t even know was frozen? 

And your scent—God, your scent. It became the essence of something beautiful. The beginning of a story only we could tell. You were the key to a world that belonged to no one else. A place where no one could follow, where only you and I existed, free to make whatever we wanted of it. 

I still remember the first time our eyes met. 

It’s strange how clearly that moment lives in me—like it’s carved into my memory. I had been searching for you for so long without even realizing it. You were what I’d been hoping to find all along. I remember how our eyes locked, like they already knew each other. How our skin brushed for the first time, and how something small—so small—ignited everything. 

I can still feel your gaze on me, the way it moved over me with such intensity. It wasn’t just looking—it was seeing . It reached inside me, made me shiver in places I didn’t know existed. 

I remember the nights we spent out on the streets, just talking. The sunsets we watched from quiet hilltops. The waves crashing on the rocks as we sat side by side, saying nothing, yet somehow saying everything. You gave me feelings I’ve never experienced with anyone else—emotions too big to name, but too real to forget. 

You and I were a perfect combination—though not one everyone could understand. We were different, yet somehow the same. Simple in the way we fit together, and yet something about us was quietly extraordinary. 

You and I: two eyes meeting, two hearts learning how to love, two bodies drawn to one another like gravity. That’s how I always saw us. That’s how I painted us in my mind. And even now, looking back, I carry no regrets. 

I’ll never try to forget you—I couldn’t, even if I wanted to. You were a part of my life, a real one. You pulled feelings out of me that I didn’t even know I was capable of. Emotions that had no name until I felt them with you. Things too big, too rare, to be captured by ordinary words. 

Yes, we hurt each other. More than we meant to. More than we should have. But despite everything, I loved you—and I still do. I always will. 

Now... I have nothing left to lose. Because the only real thing I ever truly had was you. And you’re already gone. 

It’s been ten years now since the first time we met. And still, that moment is carved into me—untouched by time. Because the first time I saw you, something inside me shifted. I felt reborn. My thoughts went quiet, my breath caught in my throat, my voice trembled, and my heart... it completely lost its rhythm. 

In that brief, electric exchange of glances, the world fell away. Everything disappeared—everything but you . The sun broke through clouds that had shadowed my days for far too long. The music in my headphones blurred into noise as a new, unbearable desire bloomed inside me— I wanted you . Utterly, irreversibly. 

Your eyes were doing something fatal to me. They were killing me, and kissing me at the same time. And your lips... they were calling to me. Waiting. Wanting. Enchanting. You cast a spell on me that day—with your smile, your gaze, your very presence. You bewitched me. And I never stood a chance. 

Even with the years passing by so quickly, I’ve never stopped searching for your gaze in the faces of strangers. I still look for you, as if you might be out there somewhere, waiting to be found. I’ve never stopped clinging to your smile—the one I keep alive through the few photographs I guard like treasures, locked deep inside my heart. 

I still hold your favorite sweatshirt against me, pretending it’s you. I bury my face in it, inhale deeply, and let your scent flood my senses, if only for a moment. I still think of you before bed, in between military drills, while out at dinner with our friends—quiet moments, loud ones, it doesn’t matter. You’re always there. 

There hasn’t been a single reason, not one, strong enough to make me stop thinking of you. And I’ve never stopped loving you—not once. Not even after all this time. And even if a thousand more years pass, know this: I never will. 

The truth is... even if I could let you go, I wouldn’t. Because deep down, I don’t want to. I want to love you endlessly. I want to love you until I collapse from the weight of it. I want to love you until the world ends. I want to love you until I do. 

I find you often in my dreams. And in those moments—those quiet, fragile moments—I never want to wake up. But eventually, I always do. I open my eyes, and the nightmare begins again: another day without you, another day where the silence feels heavier than ever. 

Still, you never really leave me. You live in my thoughts, always. You linger there like a song I can’t stop humming, and your presence makes me ache to see you again—even just for a second. 

I miss you in a way that feels infinite, in a way words will never fully capture. Time, they say, softens pain—but this one? This pain has settled into me. It doesn’t fade. Because I am still here, facing the world, trying to keep going… without your hand in mine. 

I continue to love you with the pure, unshakable joy of a child—an innocent, unwavering kind of love that knows no end. And I hold onto the hope, however quietly, that somehow, from wherever you are now, you can feel me. That you can sense the tears streaming down my face as I write these words—tears that fall silently onto your photograph resting before me. 

Each crystalline drop lands gently on your smiling face, soaking into the paper like a prayer. They blur the edges of your features, gently warping the image, but they never erase your beauty. Nothing could. Even through the water, your smile remains—warm, familiar, untouched by time. You’re still beautiful, still radiant. Still you . 

I pause and just stare at you for a while, letting the silence stretch around us. My heart clenches in my chest—tight, sharp, unbearable—as I take in the fullness of your face, the grace in your expression, the brilliance that seemed to live inside your eyes. It breaks me, knowing that my trembling hands will never again rise to meet your skin. That I’ll never again trace the sharp lines of your jaw, or cup your cheek with infinite care, as though touching something sacred. Your face—angular and impossibly perfect—was once the place I called home. And now I can only reach it in memory. 

Days pass, then months, and now even years—slipping through my hands like sand, silent and unstoppable. All of them have moved forward without you, without your face to brighten the monotony, without your laughter to pierce through this heavy, endless stillness. 

And yet, even in your absence, you remain my constant. My quiet anchor. 

In these gray days where nothing seems to breathe, you are the only color left—soft and subtle, but powerful. You’re the one who still makes the air feel lighter when it becomes too hard to inhale. Even just the memory of your smile—burned so gently into my mind—is enough to pull me back from the edge. You give me comfort, even now, without realizing it. Perhaps you never did. 

But to me, you’ve always been essential. Not just important—not just special. Essential . Like breath. Like sunlight after too many days of rain. You’re the kind of presence that becomes part of a person, stitched into the fabric of their being so quietly, so completely, that they can’t remember who they were before. 

And I don’t think you could ever truly imagine what I would give just to see you again. Not in a dream, not in a memory, but here—real, solid, breathing. I think about it constantly, all the things I’d be willing to sacrifice, just for one more moment. 

Just one. One chance to reach for your hand and feel our fingers slowly, shyly intertwine the way they used to—like a secret no one else was meant to witness. To feel the warmth of your skin under my own, to hold you without fear of letting go. 

And if the universe were ever kind enough to grant me that one impossibility, I’d want to kiss you again—softly at first, like I’m afraid you’ll vanish. Then deeply, desperately, like I’ve been waiting lifetimes for that single breath between us. Our lips, trembling and familiar, would meet again—not out of habit, but out of need. And in that kiss, I’d pour all the things I still don’t know how to say. All the sorrow, all the gratitude, all the love. 

I would fight against anything—against fate, against time, against the entire world—if it meant seeing you by my side again. Just once more. I would face it all without hesitation, without fear, if it meant I could see you smiling again the way you did when you were with me. So purely, so easily. That happiness—you wore it in such a rare, honest way when we were together. It was mine to witness, and I never took it for granted. 

Our friends used to call us the “perfect couple”. At first, we both laughed it off, shy and awkward, too aware of ourselves to take the compliment seriously. We shrugged it away, both skeptical, both embarrassed—like love could somehow be too big or too bright to be called perfect. 

But somewhere along the way... I started to believe them. Not because we were flawless, but because we fit. Because even in our rough edges, even in our mess and silence and chaos, we chose each other. Over and over again. And what could be more perfect than that? 

I would never grow tired of telling you how much I adored your smile—your full, unguarded, thirty-two-toothed grin that lit up every room and pulled laughter from the corners of my chest. I loved the way your eyes would soften when they looked at me, like they saw straight through all the versions of myself I tried to hide. You had a way of seeing me—not the performer, not the friend, not the idol—but just me. 

And those looks... those looks you reserved only for me... they’re still with me. Branded in memory. A quiet possession I never intend to let go of. 

Even in your anger—even in those rare, fleeting storms—you were still beautiful. Maybe even more so. Your expression would shift, your features sharpen, your voice rise just a little—but never in cruelty, only in passion. In truth. You were fire, and sometimes I got too close. 

But I loved you even then. Especially then. 

You drove me mad, in every possible way. And I loved every second of it. 

I remember how, years ago—right in the heart of our love, when everything between us felt limitless—I told you exactly what I wanted. I didn’t hide it. I looked you in the eyes and said that I wanted you to be the man I’d grow old with. The one I’d share everything with: joy and sorrow, triumphs and defeats, quiet mornings and sleepless nights. I wanted you to be my constant, the one steady hand I could reach for no matter where life dragged us. I told you that I hoped you’d be mine— truly mine—forever. That no force in the world could tear us apart. That you’d never leave me. Not completely. Not permanently. 

But Fate... 

Fate had other plans. It reshuffled the cards, rewrote the story we were still learning how to tell. And no matter how tightly I held on to you, no matter how fiercely I believed in us—somehow, it still wasn’t enough to stop what came next. 

The years have passed. And they haven’t been kind. But they haven’t been strong enough to erase you, either. 

Because I never stopped thinking about you. Not once. You still live at the center of my thoughts like a flame that never dies down—burning steadily, even when no one sees it. The feelings I hold for you… they reach beyond anything I could put into words. They stretch farther than memory, farther than dreams. They exist in a place beyond understanding, beyond logic— beyond what even your beautiful, wild imagination could ever grasp. 

You’ve taken up permanent residence in my heart, and there’s nowhere else for you to go. You’re carved into the very walls of who I am. Etched there in silence and gold. And your importance to me... it’s larger than anything else I’ve ever cared about. Larger than life, even. Larger than grief.

Do you remember how at the end of one of our many long, winding dates—when time seemed to slow just for us—you called me your sunflower ? I think about that moment more often than I admit. We were walking side by side, your hand grazing mine, the air cool with the hint of nightfall, and you looked at me with that unfiltered tenderness you reserved only for quiet moments like that. You told me I was your sunflower. The most beautiful of them all. The brightest, the most golden, the one that stood tall even when the light was fading, the one you could always spot in a field of ordinary. 

You said I was your light . That there was something about the way I smiled at you—how it made your world feel a little less heavy. That when my eyes landed on you, they shimmered like sunlight filtered through stained glass. 

And you meant it. I saw it in your expression. I felt it in your voice. And even now… even after all this time, that truth lingers. It hasn’t faded. 

People still tell me, sometimes, that my eyes glow when I speak your name. That my whole face softens, changes. That something in me still brightens at the mention of you. 

And they’re right. Because it’s pointless to pretend otherwise—I am still completely, unequivocally in love with you. With everything you were. With everything you still are to me. And maybe that sounds foolish to someone on the outside. Maybe it sounds like someone clinging to ghosts. But if loving you is foolish, then let me be foolish forever. 

Because, Jjong… you were the most beautiful man I’ve ever known. Not just physically—though yes, even now, I still can’t think of a face more breathtaking than yours. But your beauty went deeper. It radiated . You had a presence that couldn't be matched, a spirit that lit up even the dimmest spaces. In my eyes, you surpass the seven wonders of the world with ease. You always have. 

No one has ever fascinated me the way you did. No one has ever reached the parts of me that you instinctively knew how to touch. It was like you had a map to my soul before I even gave you the key. 

And still, no one else compares. No one else could . 

We used to talk about the future often—sometimes with laughter, sometimes with wide-eyed seriousness. And every time we did, we both knew one thing for certain: we wanted to live it together . There was no question in our minds. We spoke of our lives unfolding side by side, of shared mornings and soft nights, of building something lasting—something sacred—out of the quiet love that existed between us. 

Even when everything around us felt uncertain, we were solid. We believed in ourselves. In us . We believed that no matter what paths we were forced to walk, one way or another, we would always find each other again—and come back stronger than before. Because at our core, we were two people who were simply meant to meet. Meant to intertwine. Meant to stay. 

And for a while, we did. We were inseparable—like twin threads pulled from the same fabric. We moved through the world with joy, with curiosity, with quiet intimacy. Whenever I was near you, I felt happiness blooming in places inside me I didn’t know existed. A kind of peace I couldn’t explain, only feel. You didn’t just make me happy. You were happiness, personified. 

And now, even in your absence, I reach for that feeling in the only ways I can. I listen to your songs over and over—sometimes with a smile, sometimes with tears sliding silently down my cheeks. I study your lyrics like puzzles, trying to decipher the meanings you hid between the lines, wondering if you ever wrote something just for me, just for us. 

Sometimes, when it’s quiet enough, I find myself humming along—layering my voice over yours, letting the harmony stretch across the space between us. It’s a fragile union, imagined but real. You, on one side of eternity. Me, still here. Still listening. Still singing with you. 

Now, though… Now I can’t even find a crumb of that happiness we once knew so effortlessly. Not a trace of it lingers in my days—not in the corners of my room, not in the spaces we used to fill with laughter. I move through life carrying the shell of what we were, but the warmth... it’s gone. 

A shadow of a smile crosses my face only in the rarest of moments—those fleeting, fragile instants when I press your photograph tightly against my chest, as though if I hold it close enough, it might carry the weight of you. I close my eyes and try to remember the way you felt when you used to hug me. The way your arms wrapped around me like a safety I thought would never disappear. 

Sometimes, I take the old earphones you gave me—frayed at the edges now from too much use—and slip them in like a ritual. And there it is: your voice. Soft, melodic, full of all the colors that once filled my life. It flows through the wires like a secret only I get to hear. You sing, and for a few stolen minutes, it almost feels like you’re here again. Almost. 

But when the music stops, so does the illusion. And I’m left with silence—thick, echoing, unbearable. 

After all the thousands of obstacles we faced on our path—every challenge, every misunderstanding, every wound that we patched up with trembling hands—I never truly expected you to love me forever. Maybe I hoped for it, in the secret corners of my heart. But I never dared expect it.

And so, over time, I found myself haunted by foolish thoughts. 

I imagined your love for me fading—slowly, silently—like a candle running out of wax. Bit by bit, day by day, until there was almost nothing left to burn. Almost. Because I refused to believe it could ever disappear completely. Nothing... nothing is too final, too absolute. And I knew, even in my most fragile moments, that a small part of me would always remain in you. 

You wouldn’t be able to erase everything—not my memory, not our past, not my love. Not the way we used to say I love you like it was our second language. Not the kisses that stitched themselves into our skin. Not the hugs where we tried to become one person. Not the small, quiet gestures—the ones that spoke even louder than our words. You wouldn’t be able to erase any of it. And neither could I. 

But then... something inside me shifted. 

I realized that none of that had ever happened. You didn’t grow tired of me. You didn’t let your love fade away. It wasn’t me you walked away from. 

It was your love for me—it was loving me—that consumed you. And when I finally let that truth in, it broke me in a way nothing else ever could. 

For a terrible, breathless moment—one that stretched into days, maybe weeks—I believed I had been the one who hurt you beyond repair. I feared, with every cell in my body, that I was the one who led you to the edge. That I had loved you so fiercely, so imperfectly, that I had become the architect of your sorrow. Of your silence. Of your end. I carried that fear like a second skin, unable to sleep, unable to breathe. I couldn't give myself peace, because peace didn’t feel like something I deserved. 

It took time. Time and silence and tears and long nights with only your voice in my ears. But eventually, I understood. No one was to blame. Not truly. Not even the monsters that took hold of your mind and wrapped their hands around your heart. 

But still, I wonder… Maybe I should have been closer. Maybe I should have seen more, done more. Maybe we should have faced those monsters together —like we always said we would. Maybe I should’ve held you tighter the last time we said goodbye. Maybe I should’ve said I love you one more time. Or I’m here . Or please stay . 

I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry if I wasn’t enough. If I wasn’t right beside you when you needed me most. If I ever made you feel alone. 

I hope—wherever you are—you can forgive me. Because I’m still trying to forgive myself. 

Whatever your answer may be—whatever truth echoes back to me across the distance that now separates us—know this: you will always remain in my thoughts. You are a permanent part of me, stitched into the fabric of who I am. Because you were my first love. The first person I ever loved freely, wholly, with all the trembling pieces of my soul. And even now—even though you're no longer here—I still love you. I always will. 

Letting you go… truly letting you go… has been one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to endure. There are days when it still doesn’t feel real. When I reach for my phone out of habit, only to remember I can’t call you anymore. When I replay the sound of your voice in my mind, desperate not to forget its softness, its spark. When I lie awake at night aching for the feel of your kiss, your arms around me, your warmth beside me. 

I miss everything that we were. I miss the comfort of your presence, the way our laughter used to fill a room, the way just being near you made the world feel like it made sense. 

Since our paths diverged, it has rained so much—days and days of sorrow soaking through my bones. But slowly, step by step, the storm began to pass. The rain gave way to lingering clouds, and the clouds thinned to reveal a timid, hesitant sun. I’ve begun to see light again, even if it’s faint. And yet… not a single day has gone by without thoughts of you slipping quietly into my mind. You are still my every sunrise, my every shadow. 

And it is exactly because of that—because of how deeply I’ve loved and mourned you—that I’ve decided to write this letter. This letter, which I fear might become my last to you. 

It breaks my heart to admit it. But I know now that sobbing your name into these crumpled pages won’t bring you back. Pouring my sorrow onto this paper won’t place your hands back in mine. And though I would give anything to feel your arms around me again, to hear your laughter just once more... I know I cannot live inside the ache forever. 

I want to change. I want to move forward—not because I want to forget you, but because I can’t . You will always be with me, but I can’t let grief define the rest of my life. You loved me once. I want to believe that if you could still speak, you would want me to live fully—not just survive in fragments. 

So this letter is my attempt to lay it all down—every memory, every ache, every word I never got to say. To honor you. To release you. To carry you forward in love, not in sorrow. 

Jonghyun, from the very first moment I saw you, you were like pure oxygen—breath and life when I needed it most. You came into my world as a stranger but stayed by my side like no one else ever did. I will never stop being grateful for your presence, for the way you helped me through the darkest times just by being there. 

What followed was a crescendo of moments—curiosity turning into closeness, conversations turning into shared laughter, tears, and quiet understanding. Those years with you were the best years of my life, filled with emotions so vivid they still echo inside me. We fought sometimes, but it was only to come back to each other stronger, because being apart was unbearable. You were a breath of fresh air, a spring after a long winter, and I will never stop holding onto that truth. 

You had a way of entering hearts effortlessly, quietly, like sunlight slipping through the cracks. Once you were there, you stayed—impossible to forget or let go. I tried to forget you, to push away the pain, but it was harder than I ever imagined. So instead, I chose to hold onto the good: the memories, the love, the moments that made us who we were. 

Now, when I think of you, it’s with a gentle smile—because I remember not only how you left but how you lived. How you loved. How you changed my world forever. 

Yesterday, today, and forever, you remain in my heart—not as a shadow but as a bright, eternal light. Please watch over us from wherever you are now. Protect those you loved, and shine on as only you could. 

With all my love, 
Your Kibum