Dear Mr. Kim JaeJoong,

How's life? I used to ask you this every day. You would reply "Perfect with you here." I would smile a great big smile and link arms with yours. You never pushed me away.

Maybe you didn't notice my face when I first met you. It was surrounded behind my wall of black hair. I was blushing madly, something I never did. I couldn't help myself, after all, it was you.

I was five and you were six. Your mom told me to be nice to you, because you didn't have a daddy. I asked why, and you said that he went to heaven. That day, I wanted to go to heaven, too. Of course, I didn't know what heaven was, but if it was up in the clouds, I wanted to go.

Do you recall the look on my face whenever we talked about that kind of thing? Death, I mean. I would look at you sincerely, trying to crack that stone cold look you always had on. I wanted you to smile.

And smile you did. One day, you baked a cake for me. It wasn't the prettiest cake in the world, but I loved it. It was precious, because you made it. My name, scrawled out on the cake with lillac-coloured icing. It was a chocolate cake, my favourite. How did you know? I never got to ask.

Every year, you would make the same kind of cake for me. It got neater every year, it even tasted better, but I always had the same type of warm feeling when I ate it every year.

My sixteenth year, the 10th time you would bake for me that special cake.

You were gone.

{ day 9. }