In which I almost have no time…

His heart pumps and races, his feet dragging his body across town. He curses at how large and populated Seoul is, too many places, too many memories.

You know I would never be able to directly say good-bye.

Now, he wishes he actually went to work out with Minho, but never did he think that this would happen, that the small slip of paper neatly folded into an origami crane laid on his pillow would get him sprinting out the door.

We had many times together, we did. I don’t regret any of it.

People are staring but he doesn’t care that he’s being recognized without his disguise. The girls are dramatically gossiping behind manicured hands and cellphones are being shoved in front of his face, but none of that matters. His lungs are running out of oxygen, but he still hasn’t found _________.

It’s not good being too different. How did we put up with each other in the first place? But of course, we loved each other. Well, I know I did. And do still.

The cafe’s already been visited, the park already scouted, the bookstore already disturbed, the former home already visited. His scalding lungs take him away from his concentration. He needs to find her. Now.

Burdens are usually inanimate, but I know I was to you. I’ll miss you so much.

"Oh god, where is she, where is she…" he mutters to himself, frantically spinning in directions besides cardinal directions.

You won’t be able to find me no matter how hard you try, no matter if you did or not. I’m always leaving, becoming a memory. It’s time I go now. I love you.

The sun is setting and he’s been out since four PM and he knows he’s lost.

He just wishes that he never had to be graced with the knowledge that small letters could be so life-changing.