The third time, it was time for us to walk away, lest we fall down together.

I poured my heart out on a cold November morning. As we sat there. On “our” bench. In front of that patch of forbidden grass. With my fingers wrapped tightly around a thermos of warm milk. With chapped lips and a hoarse voice, I poured it all. 

And as I said, “Let’s break up,” for the second time, he tipped it over. 

He spilled the last drop, doing what he did best. 

He started with an impassive expression, shifting constantly afterwards, voice breaking a few times as he went on — change mimicking the seasons past.

Lee Taemin, the boy who ran, my Superman, my mystery without a clear resolution, my soon to be cut chain that stretched the length of an entire year, said the following:

“It’s easier to draw lines. To set up boundaries. To reduce everything to an ‘either-or’ argument. It’s simpler. And I like simple. 

“And I love you. And I mean that. And it’s complicated. And all my lines are blurred. And I can’t reduce it to this or that. There’s no black and white. There’s warm milk, studying in the library, early morning walks, aquarium visits, holding hands under the stars, kissing because we feel like it, and missing you even when you’re standing right next to me. There’s red, blue, and yellow. And all the colors made from them. And it’s not simple. Or it’s so simple it’s complicated. And I love you.

“Because you make me need you. Because you make me want you. Because I can’t ignore you. Because I don’t for the life of me know why. You’ve turned me into someone I don’t even know how to begin describing. And I know I can live without you, that I can grow even more whether you’re beside me or not, but I don’t want to.

“But I understand you. I don’t know what distance will do to us. I don’t know what the future has in store for us. I don’t know a lot of things. But I understand you. 

“Everyone lives and learns from one another. Because I had been missing so much that was hidden in-between the dark cracks of all the lines I drew, because I was fascinated by your smudge-creating steps, I wanted to be with you. Because you were curious about me, because you were fascinated by me in your own right, you said ‘yes.’ 

“I’ve known this since the beginning. I’ve known I was the only one benefiting from our relationship. Since I first saw you on this bench at the beginning of October, before I even learned your name a month later, I’ve known I was the only one with anything to gain. 

“So I took, and took, and took, and I know what I’ve given back makes your hand go limp in mine five minutes into our daily walks, a sigh leave your mouth every time I take comfort in your touch, and your eyelids lull whenever I give you an ultimatum — unbiasedly drawing those heavy, thick lines. But I love you for that and so much more.

“But you can’t love me. And now that I’ve taken all I can, now that you’ve given until you’re on the brink of self-loathing, it’s time for me to give something back. It’s time for me to accept that this is it. No matter how much I try to reason this out in my mind, to solve this insolvable puzzle, to figure out how I’ve grown to love you, and even more so why I still have to let you go, it’s over. 

“No matter what we do, life is just like that.” He concluded. 

His tone was empty, and yet filled to the brim with regret. 

I nodded my head, my voice stuck in a lump of bundled words — never to be heard — in my throat.

Trails of hot tears flowed down someone’s dry cheeks. 

I don’t know whose. I’m fine with never knowing. It’ll forever be a mystery left purposefully unsolved. He’s fine with not pursuing it further.

Fall ended, and we were both fine with that.