Happy birthday to the light of my life. I have no idea what I've just written.

Listen to this if you really want some music to go with it

He drew patterns on her back, sun-kissed; with her maenad locks forming crisscrossed patterns on the pillow her head rested on. The sheets covered her from the dip of her hips, her steady breathing indicative of her sleep as he gazed at the back of her head, fingers on her soft skin revelling at the smooth sensation. Donghae’s lips grazed against the dip of her spine as he wrapped his arm around her waist, skin against skin.

She was the memory he had left behind in Mokpo at the young age of fifteen. The little girl who smiled at him as he blew bubbles across the fence watching her run after them trying to pop every one. She had been lithe with strong legs which only looked like toothpicks, flat and long torso, hair frizzy with the humidity in the air of his hometown, eyes that held such adoration in them as she stumbled behind him chirping excitedly as they kicked a football around. Skin freckled with spots and warm from the sun as she hurried along the streets trying to keep up. There was a light in her that drew him like a moth.

Yet he could feel curves under his fingers, the dip of her waist, the width of her hip, the arch of her back against his chest, those toothpick legs now long and thick with muscle and fat. Smooth,soft with a dusting of hair; she even smelled different he thought as he nuzzled her neck, breathing deeply - fresh citrus as compared to the salty sweat of her childhood. She still glowed golden with light, steady unlike the blinding stage lights he had grown so used to. His little finger hooked with her’s as she breathed, chest rising and falling steadily.

She was eight when he had left, her eyes large and tear filled as he hooked his little finger with her's.

“You'll always be my special person and nothing can ever change that.” he said, foolishly like the fifteen year old he was. She returned the promise, naive as she was. Who knew that the training would be so tough? Who knew that letters often never made their way to her or even if they did, they reminded her of sea foam - they'd come and disappear in the blink of an eye. She would write back though, as much as she could in her tiny scrawl and those letters would lay under his pillow as he smiled, looking at the silly little drawings and stories of her day. Sometimes he'd read them over and over, remembering home, when things were simple and the most complicated thing was to decide on was what ice cream flavour tasted better on a hot day. She'd always say orange lollies, he knew.

She had just turned fourteen when he saw her again. There were awkward angles to her when she held him as he cried. He was twenty, and only back in Mokpo because his most cherished being - his father had left the earth. All he could remember was that she was nearly as tall as him with awkward limbs and warm arms as he sobbed into her shoulder. Her voice had changed too, mellow, a lot more gentle, just like the kiss she pressed against his temple.He had trapped her light within him and reflected it to the world. She faded into the foggy depths of his memory as he drove away with his group mates.

She never resurfaced even when he went back home. His mother said that she'd gone to college abroad and was doing well. But every time he looked across the fence to the lifeless house beside, he could only he see her grinned back at him, trying to burst the soapy bubbles he blew at her. She had become a fine woman they said, too much of a wild streak though, she’d never learn they said; but to him, he knew, she would be perfectly fine and wonderful. He knew her light would shine through everywhere just like it did when she was young. As long as she was in this universe, she would be wonderful and the knowledge of that made him happy.

He followed her social media. He knew she was just as beautiful as he had predicted. Her warm heart palpable even through the little messages she put up. They watched each other through whatever lens they could, trying to communicate with each other but how much can messages convey? The distance proved to be just too long, his work too taxing. All they had was memories of running through the streets of Mokpo hand in hand, young and carefree. There was so much unsaid, yet there was a connection that tugged at their hearts, tight like a red string across the sea.

Here she was all of twenty two to his thirty lying asleep in his bed as he held her in his arms. The little girl he knew was long gone instead lay a woman with a heart for his to take. Just like his promise when they were children, she was still his special person. It had taken only one phone call from her to tell him that she was in Seoul and not in some far-away land for him to drop everything and hurry to meet her. Years may have kept them apart, but she was his special person and that was what mattered.

"I kept my promise," she had said when he pulled her closer "you've always been my special person."

Her lips tasted like coffee and felt soft and balmy against his, skin soft and smooth as they tumbled into his empty apartment. How did it end up like this? It wasn’t supposed to go so fast, and yet it did. Who could blame them? Home is where the heart is and he had found his home yet again and she had found her heart in him. This was the closure they had been searching for for years. Maybe some promises were never meant to be broken, maybe some memories were never meant to be forgotten and chose to sear themselves into your very being and return over and over in many ways till you acknowledge them and became one with them. Maybe memories were meant to be cherished and loved, not left behind.

On his thirtieth birthday, he became one with the memory he left behind and he would hold onto it with all his strength and she would always be there in her own light, reaching back for him to hold, to love.