The night is too short. The blackness, the silence, the glitter of stars in the sky, it's all too short. But I think that if it is any longer, I wouldn't be able to take it. 

I wouldn't be able to spend much longer with him, with memories of him.

 

My name. 

My name? 

My name is Himchan. 

 

I haven't slept in five months and two days. 

I haven't slept since he left. 

Left. 

Left forever. 

 

The moon.

The moon is pale, a bowl of milk tonight. It lights up too much. Too much of the things I don't want to see, that I can't see because they remind me too much of him. But it brightens me, as I stay in the shadows. It unveils me, it makes me weak to be seen. I don't like being weak, but I am, in essence, weak. But I will survive. 

 

The sky. 

The sky is black, that midnight color that isn't a true black because of the stars and the full moon, and I think I would find more comfort in a sky of black, of pure, unmarked black than this. I would feel hidden in pure blackness, and so I am revealed in this not-blackness. But I will survive. 

 

The stars.

The stars are scattered, too light and too glittering and too much like happiness, and family that I try not to look at them too much, but when I tilt my head back I have to, they're everywhere. Everywhere, so separated in space, and yet I feel now as if I can touch one to another easily enough. They are too much like me, too insolated. But I will survive. 

 

He's made me weak. He made me strong, and he makes me weak now, day and night. But night is when I walk. Night is when I let my guards down, when I let my mental blocks down and I think of him, I think of him. I let myself cry, and I let my weakness show.

 

And tonight, alone when I used to be together, the moon washing the lake with white, the stars glittering, winking at me like this, this life is all a cruel joke, I let my guards down. 

I let myself cry, and I let my soul weep with my love, my lost love. I let myself cry for the man that I had been married to, for four years and three months. The man with the old, sad eyes but he always knew how to light them like strings of bulbs on Christmas night. The man that I had met when I was only eight. The man that was so beautiful, and kind, and everything I had ever thought I would never have, and everything that I didn't deserve but he choose me anyway, he choose me. 

And now he is gone, and I am left all alone, and so, so alone, and I'm drowning in this sea but I will put my head up, I will survive. One day, I'll find the light. One day, I'll find the courage to swim toward it. One day, I'll find the courage to leave you behind. 

 

But this day, this night, is not that night.