I developed a love for writing when I was in my teenage years when speaking does not necessarily tell people what I feel. Writing gave me a space where I could be who I want and I can pretend and it will all still be the same. In the midst of the whirlwind of words that surrounds me I met a wonderful man who shared the same interests as me – Jonghyun. He helps me find words that match the way I feel and the songs I sing finally have a symphony. I read stories that were once fantasy and it all came true because I had Jonghyun.

Jonghyun was different from most men I knew, he wasn’t ashamed of his writings no matter how corny it may be and that kind of strange confidence that oozes from him kept me on my feet. He taught me poetry, how words if woven creatively it can be music and how he kept playing me different tunes every single time. The music that came from within him made me want to dance although I never was one who could find rhythm in my steps. He taught me how to move my body in ways I never knew I could and I discovered myself in ways I never knew. Jonghyun was special like that.

Because he taught me countless things, he was the one who pointed out my flaws as well. Because I loved him, his words doesn’t hurt me the least bit though it left me a scar every time a part of me was discriminated. Every inch of my skin had his name and every scar, although it did not pain me, still left a mark. If I were to match every one of the scars I got from him, I could draw the most detailed portrait of the love we shared.

Every day when I got up from my side of his bed, he would whisper me sweet words woven into fine, fine poetry. He made me look forward to mornings just so I could hear his soft mellow voice wake me up with stories his beautiful mind had created. His fingers would trail down the scars he put on my body and I would hear him repeatedly apologizing.

His “sorry” was addictive and every day as he tormented me, he mends me with his words. What I had with Jonghyun was beautiful as it was dysfunctional. He would tell me how much I meant to him and how much he depended on me but in time he hurt me more and tendered me less. Loving Jonghyun was strange but the strangeness kept me coming, it kept me wanting him more until the day he decided I have had enough.

In the room we spent the most time together on the bed was a piece of paper and on it, in the neatest writing was a poem from Jonghyun to me. I read it out loud and I felt his heart beating in the palm of my hand. He was crying when he left this here. He left the most parts of himself with me because he knew I would treasure them while he lets himself disappear.

Thank you for the poetry, Jonghyun. Thank you for every one of these permanent memorable scars.