About

Nuna, they say the lifespan of love is three years. We've spent eight years together, far past that mark, but I think it's finally time to let you go. I remember seeing you standing on the playground on a scorching summer day; I wondered if that was what they meant by love at first sight. I stood frozen, and then, seeing you start to walk away, I ran to you, sweating, to get your number because I was afraid I'd never see you again. That was the best thing I've ever done in my life. I remember being embarrassed to look at you in my school uniform when you turned twenty. You comforted me and said it was okay, but I wanted to take off that uniform and stand proudly by your side as soon as possible. Then, four years into our relationship, I enlisted. I remember crying as I hugged you, leaving even my parents behind on enlistment day, and how you jumped into my arms at the completion ceremony. You stayed by my side faithfully from my first leave to my final discharge. You started your career around the time I became a sergeant. It feels like just yesterday I was crying over the phone congratulating you, but I've already been discharged for a long time. Time flies, doesn't it? Once I got out, I realized you had become such an impressive person. I was just a sophomore returning to school, while you were a professional established in society. I think I was too immature to endure that gap without letting it show. When we sit in cafes and talk, you just look at your phone and say I wouldn't understand even if you told me—I don't hate you for that. Because it's true. When I say I'll pick you up after work, you say there's a team dinner or you're too tired—I don't hate you for that either. Because you aren't lying. After a year and a half of this, we barely see each other once a month. Texts that come every six hours if I'm lucky, and phone calls that don't last five minutes. And there's one more thing. That person in your department you mentioned, the one who takes such good care of you. It's a man's intuition, but I think he likes you. He'll be able to listen to your stories and empathize with you, just like I did years ago. Nuna, it's okay if you like him. You don't have to hide your screen when a text notification pops up anymore. Neither you nor I did anything wrong. But Nuna, it's right to stop here, isn't it? I have at least that much tact. They say you can't say 'I love you' and 'Let's break up' at the same time, but I think it's possible this time. I won't be able to see you anymore, so I should sleep early to see you one last time in my dreams. Goodnight.