Kim Jongin.

Do you think about me sometime? Does my name come to mind, do you find yourself whispering it in the dark of the night? Do you remember me like how I remember you?

--

I’d always loved him, since the very first time our eyes met, all those years ago. He was an enigma, a handsome, handsome boy coming to an orphanage to play with the kids. He never did say much, hardly gave the older ones a glance, only talking to the children he played with. His expression when he carried little Jinnie in his arms was beautiful. I will remember it until the day I die, and then I will continue remembering it still.

It’s been years. He goes by Kai now. He’s made a name for himself in the entertainment industry, while I am a struggling student trying to pay the bills. I go to a performing arts school, I play the piano. I work at a frozen yogurt store, I make barely enough to survive.

Still, I attend his showcases as often as possible. Which isn’t very often, to be honest. I write him letters, which I keep in a box below my study table. They are addressed to him, but they are meant only for my perusal. I will never post them out. They contain my deepest, darkest secrets, my biggest, boldest dreams, and my unwavering, undying love for him.