Soojung,

I am writing today in our favorite spot at that milktea house downtown. It was unoccupied because Ahjumma told me she'd keep it clear as we wait for you. I ordered two milkteas. One wintermelon, everybody's favorite, and one chocolate, my not so favorite. Not strawberry 'cause it's too much of you. And not blueberry 'cause it's too much of me. Remember we'd only raise a blue straw and Ahjumma would know right away what our orders were.

I am reminded of your disappearance by the bittersweet taste of chocolate. I think Ahjumma added too much of it. And the notes we stuck under the table isn't helping much too. With my earpods blasting with songs of your mixtape, the shop smelling of faint jasmine as Ahjumma sets out some teabags and your faded lipmark on the table which you kissed after passing that Chemisrry class of yours.. Its just too much of you. Soojung, please come home sooner. I would really work hard double time so I can graduate with honors, get a good job and make our dreams come true--to sing The Cure's Sweater Weather with our pajama's on at 2AM at the top of the Eiffel tower. I'd stop being a lazybum. Seriously.

And I wonder why I am now unconsciously drowned in you. I avoided it earlier. So much of you. Too much. And I'm not doing anything about it. Instead I let myself drown in you. The thoughts, the smell, the songs, the f