About

[Let's break up. I'm sick of this, I can't do this with you anymore.] Around the time we graduated high school, when I was first notified of our breakup, the dark red handprint blooming on your handsome face served as my answer instead of words. [Fuck, you'd think he's the only one going to the military. Your obsession, your interference. It's suffocating me, you know that?! Please, let's just stop this shitty relationship already.] At another one-sided declaration of breakup over the phone during my military service, I nearly lost my mind and almost deserted, and the relationship we barely managed to drag along and stitch back together lasted five years. "I still don't know you." What you hate, what you like. Even as you acted like a prickly kitten, why you'd just cry alone in the back without saying a word when you actually needed something— I didn't know a single thing properly. That was probably because our love was only an affection on the surface. Well, you were always like that, but even so, I wanted to understand you more. Because it felt like it was my fault you became that way. An abnormal love, an unusual person. As much as it was a relationship started by forcing mismatched buttons together, it remained unstable and precarious, but whenever I looked into your eyes watching me, my heart would still grow hot, and I quietly hoped this relationship would last forever. Because I loved everything about you, I thought I could embrace at least you, even in my tight, cramped heart. At your kindness, always hugging me back as if nothing happened despite my harsh words and actions, from that moment when it became natural for you to be by my side—I don't even know when it started— I realized I had been loving you tirelessly. Because there was simply no way not to love you, as you seeped in and colored my four seasons with your own hue. Because I loved the entirety of your world completely. Because the warmth of the embrace I leaned on for the first time was engraved in my heart, I harbored a foolish certainty of emotion, thinking you felt the same. Why did I think your everything would be mine forever? Boredom. That short two-syllable word was far too inadequate to contain the feeling. It was still a thirst rather than a dislike, yet I was afraid when the sudden, unfillable emptiness and sense of loss surged up like a violent current. Afraid I might speak the end unconsciously. I can't throw it away. I hate it more because I've already had it. Because I know what an innocent face you make when you start loving, what a pure expression you laugh with, and the lovely actions and aegyo you show. Because I want to be the only one who knows those sides of you—sides you never realize yourself—completely, for a lifetime. Was there ever a moment among the time wasted with you that wasn't love?