Seven years passed. Seven years void of any form of contact allowed us to grow apart – allowed our years’ worth of relation to dissipate. College was three years ago. I pursued my graduate studies while working at a large conglomerate. But what Jongin was involved with these three years that were not filled with studies, I had no clue. I heard from my parents and our mutual friends that he was doing well. I learned that his dancing had improved and he had won various awards. Perhaps he was still professionally pursuing dance; that was the logical choice, since he graciously and passionately danced as if he was born to only fulfill one purpose: illuminate the stage with his every move.

I also moved on – at least on the surface. I went onto college, where I pursued marketing and sociology. I joined a dance crew – hip-hop, because I did not want to spark memories of our past. I practiced alone and with the crew. I even taught classes. I was content with life as it was and even seemingly moving on.

            However, I never completely forgot. I still kept and treasured the sentimental gifts from him – perhaps as a token of the past or maybe as a constant reminder to myself that I must soon erase our past from my memory.

I worked my way up the corporate ladder to become the senior marketing director of the company. Mornings were dedicated to work while free nights and off days were solely entrusted to dance and dance only. I forced myself to be occupied with either work or dance during every moment of the day, so I had no chance to think about him even when I wanted. Every day, I sought the moment when he would leave my memories and no longer haunt me. I sought the night when I would no longer dream of him and our past. I sought the day when our relationship would no longer matter and drown my heart in a sea of tears.

Although my career was blooming, I never sought another relationship. In undergrad, I met Kana and Luhan, the former who became my closest friend. After witnessing their unbelievably perfect relationship, I couldn’t deny that I was absolutely jealous of them for being able to sustain a relationship from high school – their first loves – and allow it to only foster and grow through the years.

I could not even deny the fact that loneliness was the only thing that filled the gaping hole in my heart left by Jongin.

Sitting alone in my apartment that overlooked the congested traffic of the city, I examined the contents of each folder sprawled across the table before me. My phone vibrated and flashed the brief beginning of a text message from my co-worker. I groaned in dissatisfaction at the stress that washed over my physically and mentally worn-out body in response to her curt reminder of the project’s deadline, which happened to be tomorrow.

The clock ticked and groaned the reminder of time slipping through the gaps between my fingers. I finally conceded to the overwhelming stress and allowed myself to leave the files and enjoy a cup of homemade latte on my balcony.

Although the sight of a rainbow assortment of car lined up from bumper-to-bumper suffocated me, the never sleeping lights illuminating the city skyline allowed my heart to breathe at least somewhat. The summer night breeze graced my hair and whispered calming notes to my ear, but it did nothing to silence my longing heart.

It’s been three years since his unsaid promise of return. So why was I still tangled in this vine of memories? If I had been – unknowingly to myself – waiting for his return, that still should had died with his transient intentions to return. Yet I found myself subconsciously checking my voicemail for possible messages left by him, my mailbox for letters sent by him, email for mail typed by him.

Nothing was all I found. No, I did find something, actually. I discovered emptiness. I uncovered hopelessness. I restored disappointment.

But then I found the level of heartache and longing abate with each passing day. Seven years, it was about time that I let go. 

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