“Hello, you’ve reached the household of Key and Jinki – yah! Who says “household” anymore – please leave a message after the beep.”

Spun our web of lies, ensnarled in our own illusions; we thought we were cocooned by love, protected from all that was the world. Nothing could touch us from where we lay together, adding each day to our own memories. Now memories are all we have left, all that remains in the aftermath of our so called great love. Now I only have the recording of our voicemail, something that I couldn’t bring myself to erase because it has your voice. Your one earring on my dresser that I can’t throw away, your scent which lingers on my pillow, everything that reminds me of you is still here, in our apartment.

Every day your presence haunts me, filling my dreams. The hatred that I keep trying to conjure won’t come; instead I just remember you. The way your laughter always brighten my day, the way it animates your features, your small habits that no one else notices – I remember it all. As people, we seek to understand, to explain every experience, every phenomenon. But some things do happen for no reason. Days of laughter faded into bitter silence and gave rise to arguments. Was it me? Was it you?

“That’s everything.” You said on the last day, on your final departure. I glanced over at your belongings - things during our time together – packed away in boxes. I could only nod, unsure of my voice. What if I had asked you to stay? What if I told you that I love you? Truth was, I wasn’t sure. Was love supposed to hurt? Did that mean it wasn’t over? It’s not over. In the end, it’s not over. Even when I am by myself, listening to the sound of your voice through the recording, I know it’s not over. After the sweet love, the bitter fights, I’m still within its shadow, still ensnarl in its web, still cocoon by memories of you.

The love that away my soul and left me with an empty shell – even through it all, I want it back. But love is nothing with you. And love with you will never end.



Tears fall silently as he grasps the letter in his tightly clenches fists. His small frame shakes as sobs echoe throughout the room. Faces turn to look at him in sympathy, pity murmurs fill the room. Kibum looks down upon the body of his ex-boyfriend and wonders how this is the same person. The empty shell has none of the warmth he has always associated with Jinki. It is cruel. Kibum wonders how he still keeps sane when inside he just wants to scream, he wanted to rage at the world. He can’t understand how it could happen, doesn’t understand how he was supposed to look at this lifeless body and say good-bye to the person he loved – the person he still loves.

“We found this letter on him,” was all the policeman said when they informed him of the accident, “I’m sorry. Do you know if he has any other relatives we can inform? He only has you listed under family.”

Family. Their own family of two. Broken even before the accident which took Jinki away from him for good. It hurts ten times more than the day he walked away; even in the back of his mind, he knew he was coming back, now there is no coming back. There will be no apologies for the words said in anger, for the hurt. Being young seems like a feeble excuse now that it is truly over. In the end, Jinki is wrong. Love always end. And it will always hurt.