It was really all my fault that you left. It’s good, in a way, that you had to go. You jumped at the opportunity, saying it was your one chance to make a difference like we talked about. But when we talked about changing the world, we were doing it together. You left me. Traitor.

And yet, I can’t hate you. Because you have your words, and it is certain that they will move the world to tears with their incredible strength and power. They are everything. I’m not. I would love to be your words, my dearest, because they are held so close to your heart.

So close to your heart.

So, there you are, studying at the best university in the world, because of an interview I managed to get you. I could have kept it for myself. I should have kept it for myself.

I wonder what would have happened if I went to that interview. Why did I tell you to go? Would I still be in that same home that embraced you that one time, or somewhere else? Because now, I’m lost, wandering from town to town collecting places in my heart to go with you, when you come back. If you come back.

I hope you don’t. If your only motivation for coming back is me, then don’t. You don’t need me anymore. You never did. Sure, it may hurt. It definitely hurts now. But isn’t that what life is about? Being in pain for the ones we love? If you want to come back, and I don’t want you to, then you, loving me, cannot. Because you love me. And if I want you to come back, but I know that you must not, then I, loving you, must accept it. Because I love you, so, so much.

Does that make sense? If it doesn’t, just remember what I always told you.

I love you.

You, my angel on earth, are loved by this despicable human being, in this dirty world, surrounded by pathetic people. You don’t belong here, which is why you need to run and never look back.

Don’t look back, not even for me.

I actually haven’t mailed the last letter I wrote to you. It’s not like you can write back, since I’m always moving, never in a given location. As much as I’d love to read your words, I can never stop. This is what I need to do to live now.

Love sure is stupid, isn’t it? Making me long for you like this, how cruel. It knows fully well what’s at stake here. We’re playing a game of high risk poker, and love is the dealer with a hidden agendas. It makes everyone lose. Few people walk away even remotely satisfied. Very few.

You and I, we weren’t so lucky.

There was one word you used to describe me. Krasivaya. I don’t know what it means yet. Honestly, I don’t want to know. Part of the mystery of your words makes you who you are. Take the mystery away, and it all changes. It adds perspective, which I don’t need. I already have too much of it.

Krasivaya. I can hear you whisper it to me when I need to go to sleep. Husky, throaty, over and over. Krasivaya. It’s my lullaby. You are my comfort when nights are too dark and the silence seems to hold things in it. Without you lullaby to help me cope with your loss, my sleep would be endless. I would never wake up, and wait for you in eternity. Forever.

Our story seems so idiotic, doesn’t it? It’s just more and more heartbreak, two lovers being separated, and one bestial girl whining about it all. I hate that.

But contrary to the popular love stories, I don’t think about you all day. Sometimes, I can’t help it. My mind automatically goes to you. But when I can help it, I try my hardest to busy myself so I don’t have to cry. When I think of you, that’s what just happens. And it’s the worst kind of crying as well. The kind when you’re trying to hold it in, but then it gets too hard and you’re letting something out that’s part gasp and part sob, and the tears start to well up. You can’t blink though, otherwise more and more drops will come, but while you’re struggling for air, you blink, and it all explodes.

You mourn for the absence of a loved one. It’s certainly not the most beautiful moment, but it’s real. As real as you can get.

My love for you was incalculable, infinite. It would be easier to count the stars than to attempt to measure my love for you. If you ever loved me, I want you to admit that it was quite possible that I took too much from our relationship. You gave your all, and I took your everything. How could you have ever tolerated such a selfish being such as the one writing to you? Even though these words never reach you, I find some consolation in them. I find it ridiculous that when you and your words are gone, my words swoop in and try to make it all better. Like some consolation prize.

Consolation prizes are for losers.

Okay, viaxoxo. Did I answer your question? To other readers, please think up questions you have about Sunny and Hoya's situation and I'll do my best to answer them all.