The second time is much harder, interestingly enough.

You would think it would be easier. After all, "been there, done that" as they say. 

But that's simply not true. 

You see, for me, it wasn't just opening up an old wound. 

It was slowly, painfully removing the stitches, feeling the thread move through my skin, then carving deeper into the scar, making it irreparable. 

That's what saying goodbye to you felt like, a second time. 

The last time. 

That's the part that really hit me.

Because the first time, the first time I walked away with a little more confidence because somewhere, deep down, I assumed we'd have our moment again.

I considered you "my forever person" and figured, time will pass, we will mature and we will know how to love each other in all the right ways. 

I didn't know exactly how that moment would come about, but I was sure it would happen. 

And wouldn't you know it, I was being confronted with the past at a coffee shop?

To me, the universe had opened up and told me, "the moment is upon us."

Except it wasn't. 

That was me, trying to justify a silly fantasy. It wasn't the universe.

It wasn't a divine intervention. 

I needed an excuse to make real the ideas of love I've carried with me for so long. 

And so, for love, I acted recklessly. 

I willfully invaded your privacy and used a friend of yours to orchestrate this God-given "moment" and I got what I deserved. 

I got to see you being happy without me. 

You found someone to share love with that isn't me. 

And of course you would, because I ended things, removed you from my life with seeming permanence and you did what any normal person would do: you moved on.

I'm torn up because after all of that time, I wasn't moving on. I wasn't getting on with my life. 

I was busy living each day waiting for you to appear in front of me again.

I spent so much time thinking about how that interaction would go. 

Alone, I reminisced on all the time we had spent together, my favorite moments. 

You and I, lounging around my apartment drinking beer, eating snacks on a Saturday, watching old cartoons on that thrifted VCR. 

Or the times at the gym, where I embarrassed you with my level of athleticism, and when I'd try to coach you on your form, you'd get all huffy and red faced. 

The sweeter moments, the soft touches, stealing glances across the table when we were with our friends. 

All of the times you were hard on me because you believed in me. 

Eventually I had to stop going down memory lane, because I'd wake up and you still weren't next to me. I'd check my phone and there were no missed calls or overlooked messages. 

I went on, supressing memories, pushing you to the farthest corner of my mind so that I could focus on getting my life in order.

But all the while, I kept my love on reserve. 

I couldn't say all of this the day you came to my house following the disaster that was supposed to have been a well-planned reunion. 

I couldn't say these words because you didn't deserve for me to try and make you open old wounds, too. 

So then, why am I writing you this?

I intend on making sure it at least gets in your hands. 

I hope that you read it though.

It isn't a plea for you to consider giving us a chance again. 

It isn't something I'm doing to make your heart waver. 

What I saw that night when you came to me, was someone that still cared.

A concerned Kibum.

Someone that wasn't upset, but truly worried about me. 

Despite you having moved on, you cared for me so much that you came all the way here to console me. 

And no matter what you say, that's love. 

A love reserved only for me, and that's one thing you can't convince me otherwise. 

I'm writing this for two reasons.

One, to pose a question: Do we ever stop loving someone?

Or do we eventually heal from the pain of loving someone we’re no longer with?

Do we just keep that love for someone deeply suppressed within our memories until something in the air reminds you of them?

I sometimes think that if you can feel absolutely nothing at the thought of someone you used to be with, then you hadn’t loved them at all. But then there are those we recall and we’re almost crushed by the weight of remembering...

That was love.

Real love.

And I just can’t fathom that that love goes to die.

However, the love you have for me does not make you beholden to me. 

I am not entitled to you because of it. 

This, I understand more clearly now. 

And the second reason that I'm writing this in hopes that you'll read it: I wanted to assure you that I'm okay. 

I'll be okay. 

I'll come to terms with "forever persons" being something you only get in fiction. 

In the meantime, I'll hold the story of us close to me, as a reference, to see if I can write an even better one. 

One that's not fiction nor fantasy - but it's real and sweet and enduring.

And a third thing. 

I know I said two, but this just occurred to me. 

Loving you means that I have to let you go, to settle into your newfound happiness. 

It means wanting the best for you even if that means I'm not the best. 

I'm so proud of you, for who you are, what you're becoming, and the courage you mustered to love again. 

I am genuinely, while also sadly, happy for you. 

I'm starting my life over tomorrow. 

Tomorrow because this letter has made me feel terribly lonely, and I feel as though I need to do something to get myself in high spirits before trying to venture.

My theatrical debut has led to some doors opening for me, which you've always predicted, and well, though I'll be traveling, I don't think carrying around this baggage is ideal. 

So tomorrow then, I start anew.

I begin my process of moving on, honestly this time. 

And if we're to ever run into one another again, I mean let's face it, we will if we intend to remain friends with Taemin and Naeun, we won't be crushed with the weight of remembering, but rather reassured in knowing we had a damn good love, that prepared us for the love we experience now or will experience soon. 

And a fourth reason. 

I know, I'm getting long winded now. 

Letters seem to be more your style, so I had to keep the tradition. 

Those are all of my reasons, and all the words I've wanted to say.

Thank you, Kim Kibum.

Sincerely.