Myungsoo feels his world spinning. The last letter from Sungjong is so confusing, yet so clear. It’s his last. Not because he doesn’t want to write to Myungsoo anymore, he stated that but because he doesn’t have time. He won’t have time to write anymore.

His heart breaks, Myungsoo’s heart does. Because he loves Sungjong so much. Sungjong makes him feel like he knows himself – otherwise he has no identity. He has no name, no shape, no soul. Sungjong makes him beautiful, Sungjong makes him bold.

And that Sungjong is leaving. Forever.

He wishes he had more time. Just a bit more time with Sungjong. But he knows that the time won’t be enough, he would just want more. Because with Sungjong, one moment is like forever, and forever is never enough.

He can live millions of forevers with Sungjong, he wants to live them all.

But now, Sungjong is waving his last farewell, Myungoso can’t take it.

He reads the letter again. Sungjong asked if he was real. If he was a human and not just a part of his imagination.

What can he say?

I’m real Sungjong, of course I’m real.

Sungjong asked how he can be dead and real.

I don’t know Sungjong, does it matter?

Lines form the letter keep flitting across his eyes – ‘you died in a bicycle accident almost ten years ago’.

I don’t remember to tell the truth, I don’t know.

And even if I did, I’m still here…

Finally there are bold proclamations of love. Sungjong elaborated on how he felt about meeting L, he described every moment, every second as if it was a precious, exotic flower. He didn’t miss a single detail and as Myungsoo read on, he could remember each and every one of them vividly. How inviting Sungjong’s hands were, how familiar they felt; familiar yet new at the same time. It’s somewhat like landing on a new port and instantly finding home. Myungsoo feels that way.

He feels that he has been a wandering ship in the sea of humanity, until he found Sungjong, his destination, his home.

He desperately wants to find the anchor and stay here, but Sungjong seems to be growing distant with each passing day – unattainable, unapproachable under the shadow of death.

But then again, Sungjong claims that he is dead. So what does that mean? Will he be able to meet Sungjong in the afterlife? But he already met him here…

Wait what is here?

Myungsoo isn’t sure anymore. Getting up from the chair where he has been reclining for the entire morning, he positions himself in front of the mirror and peers at his reflection curiously. He can’t recall the last time he looked at the mirror, and yet he can definitely tell that he hasn’t changed. At least not on the outside. Too bad the mirror doesn’t reflect the inside. Internally, it seems he’s a totally new person. This new person is in touch with the reality, this new person has his own feelings, not only borrowed emotions from letters from an unaddressed postbox (he’s stopped reading them), he has his own hopes and dreams.

He hopes.

He dreams.

And they’re all for Sungjong, all about Sungjong.

He has never thought about life. What is life, how is he living, whether he is living at all. No, these questions haven’t occurred to him. But ever since Sungjong came into his life, he pondered about these things, mainly emphasizing on his will to live. He wants to live as long as Sungjong and he wants a tomorrow. And that repeats every day; every night he goes to bed, praying for a tomorrow.

One more day, one more letter from Sungjong.

He wants tomorrow, something he’d never wanted.

And yet, all he sees in front of him is apocalypse. The darkness the void – the desperateness. He never imagined he would fear the end of the world so much. But that’s the truth, he’s scared of his world ending. In the dank darkness, like shimmering fireflies, he sees Sungjong.

Sungjong is like fireflies – constant, frail, beautiful, ephemeral. Because when the night dies, fireflies take leave. And Myungsoo is torn because he knows there will be no fireflies unless there is the blackness of apocalypse, and apocalypse means fireflies will die tragic deaths.

So either way, he loses Sungjong.

Either way, he isn’t much of a person.

He can be anything but a person. He can be lines from a poem, or scenes from a dream, or footprints of a wanderer – but he can’t be a person.

Even though he hates it, he likes it as well. Which makes him think that he might be crazy, not just ambivalent. But it doesn’t bother him that much. Definitely not as much as the thought of what will happen to him if Sungjong dies.

I would want to die too, but can I?

He has his doubts. He doesn’t know why, but he doubts his ability to die. It’s nothing he can explain in concrete terms, it’s more like a gut feeling. Something he just knows.

And again, he detests it. He also hates that he knows these things, has this sort of sixth sense working in his body.

He wishes he could be normal, everyday-like. But then, he wonders, Sungjong might not have liked him. Loved him.

Maybe this is how Destiny had planned it for them.

But for now, he puts all those thoughts away and thinks what to reply to Sungjong.

What will he tell him? That he’s dead, or alive. Or real, or imaginary.

So he tells him what he knows best.

I love you.

And that will never change, not in reality, not in fantasy – he is sure about that. Happy about that. Relieved.

So he pens down his thoughts, his feelings. He pens down his memories, his expressions. His smiles, his tears. His dreams, his loneliness.

He wants Sungjong to understand him completely, fully. He wants Sungjong to know him upside-down, up and down, side to side.

He wants to reveal his all to Sungjong, revel in the feeling.

He tells Sungjong that he is beautiful. He had told him that a lot of time, but he says it again, just to be sure Sungjong remembers it.

And that’s how he ends the letter. He tells him to remember him. Just like Sungjong had requested him to remember him forever.

While folding the paper, he finds himself crying. Of all days, of all times, now he’s crying.  He’s crying like he’s never cried before. He’s crying like his life depends on it. He’s crying as if the tears can save Sungjong, can postpone the impending doom.

When he walks out of his apartment, out into the streets, he’s still weeping. And when he reaches Woohyun’s house, he doesn’t wipe the tears from his eyes.

Sungjong had told him that the address was of Woohyun’s house after almost two months of correspondence. He had told him that he couldn’t send the letters to his own house because of the situation with his parents.

So he usually posted the letters at Woohyun’s address but today, he has come all the way. This last letter, he wants to give it to Woohyun with his own hands.

When Woohyun opens the door, he looks surprised to see him. But he doesn’t say anything, only ushers him in silently. They sit on the couch in his living room, and then Myungsoo extends his hand towards him. The envelope changes hands, still no words pass between them.

Finally, Woohyun opens his mouth.

“I got into a lot of trouble for you. They almost want to send me off to a mental facility.”

Myungsoo nods slowly. He knows this, Sungjong has mentioned in his letter.

“So you’re not a ghost?” Woohyun asks lightly.

Myungsoo shakes his hand. Then nods. Then looks up.

“I don’t know.”

Woohyun sighs.

“Well I can just whisk you off to them and show them, but whatever, what’s the point.”

Myungsoo trembles.

“Sungjong…”

“He’s still alive. But barely. I probably have to read this out to him.” He motions at the letter he’s kept on the seat beside him. “Can I?”

“Yes…but I – I’m so sorry I -”

Woohyun stops him.

“Look L – Myungsoo whatever. I don’t care if you’re a ghost or a hallucination or an alien, or a zombie, but you – you have made Sungjong happy. You made him smile and you gave him joy which – which we failed to. But you did. And Sungjong loves you. So I have to thank you. You don’t have to apologise.”

Myungsoo doesn’t say anything else, he can’t. He takes his leave.

And he shakes badly.

Sungjong is on his mind.

Sungjong is always on his mind.

When he goes to bed, he prays again for a tomorrow.

Tomorrow never comes.