You are going to be the death of me.

You, with your graceful movements that scream 11 years of ballet.

You, with your quiet demeanor that becomes a little louder when you’re with me.

You, with your japanese accent that has lessened over the years, but has remained just as mesmerizing.

You, with your honey-silked singing voice that has me, along with the rest of the audience, falling in love.

You, with your soft brown eyes that somehow manage to soften even more when they meet mine.

You, with your constantly changing hair that I always find my fingers tangled up in, no matter the style.

You, with those delicate hands that cradled my face when you first told me you loved me.

You, with those lips that sneakily find their way to mine when you think others aren’t watching.

You, with your obsession over ketchup that really, truly, honestly doesn’t make me jealous.

You, with your laugh that resonates within me, replaying over and over, lifting my spirits higher and higher each time.

You, with your bright smile that has my heart threatening to burst out of my chest.

You, Myoui Mina, are going to be the death of me, Son Chaeyoung.