The Letters He Never Sent || Minsung

47

"Proof of residency?" The lady asks, smacking her gum.

I rummage through my bag, and pull out a document—handing it to her nervously. She takes the paper from my hand and rolls her eyes, typing on her really loud keyboard.

With every click of the key I flinch, and take a deep breath. Things have really changed since high school, and I don't really know how anything works now. Being locked up for years doesn't help either.

"Okay sir." She says. "The money will be put into your bank account by next week. The property now belongs to the buyers." She smiles at me. "You're free to go. Have a good day, Han Jisung."

I smile back, a fake one just like hers. I get up out of my chair and gather my things, bowing as I leave her office. I just know the minute I closed the door her smile dropped.

Being in a metal hospital has its pros, but they are very little compared to all the cons. One of the pros is that you can read people like a book, it's a habit you pick up after a while. She definitely hated my guts, I guess my records weren't impressive.

I just sold my childhood home, which I inherited from my mothers passing. She died in prison, from 'old age.' She wasn't even that old, so I'm guessing there was more to that story than we were told.

I couldn't bring myself to enter that house for a second time, so I decided it was time to sell it. I sold everything in the home, then the home it's self. I got a lot of money off of it, and I'm now using that money for my own well being.

I plan on getting a little job to at least have some income, then I want to go to college. It might be too late, but I want to go right now. I want to make something of my self, the person I couldn't because of my illness.

I don't like to blame the illness for everything, because it isn't an excuse. But I do think in some ways it did ruin my life. Maybe more than some. The illness is now manageable though, so I can finally fix all my wrongs.

After the long bus ride home—since I don't have a car— I finally reach my humble abode. I pick up the mail pile on my doorstep, and lock the door immediately when I get inside. It's just a bad habit I have developed over the years. Being with ill people can cause you to do a lot of weird things.

I kick off my shoes as I flick through the mail pile. So far it's only things for the old owner, and things from the mental institution. However, There is a little letter at the bottom of the pile that makes me giggle.

The front of the envelope reads, 'it's my turn now."

I smile and rip the seal open, taking out the basic pieces of notebook paper. I sit down on my couch and start to read, pulling my legs up to my chest to get comfortable.

To Jisung,

I think I owe you the biggest apology known to mankind.

For the past nine years, I have been beating myself up saying everything bad I could think of about you to make myself hate you. I have told myself over and over that you used me, or that you never loved me, or that you only did this to hurt me.

The first few weeks I didn't believe it, the first few weeks I knew you would never do anything like that to me— let alone anybody in the world. You were the sweetest boy in town.

But after the loneliness kicked in, after the sadness wore off— I started to believe everything bad about you. The sadness of what had happened was now replaced with anger, and the loneliness had penetrated my heart.

I had grown to hate you.

As I got older, as I grew and got old, I secretly became more and more greedy to feel better. So with the greed to make my heart stop hurting, I dragged your image through the mud. I had no idea how greedy my heart was until I started to read those letters, and finally come to the realization.

I was overwhelmed with grief.

I think the grief was really just love, however. The grief was the love that I couldn't give to you anymore. The grief gathered in my chest, sank my heart to the deepest part of me, it was the lump in my throat.

But now the grief is gone, because I know you are okay. I know that you didn't leave me because you hated me, and I know that I don't hate you either.

But if I don't hate you, then do I still feel the way I did for you back in high school?
Yes.
Yes I do.

And I'm afraid.
I'm afraid that I will love you forever,
And we will never be in the same room again.

I know exactly what I want—what I need —to say to you now, but you aren't here to hear it. So for now, they are just words we should have never left unsaid.

And I'll be waiting for you to let me say them.

I smile at the last words on the page, and reach my hand up to wipe my tears. "I've loved you since I met you–" I say, as if he can hear me. "—and I still do."

I take a minute to breath, before hopping up to my feet and running to my desk. I rummage through all the loose papers, eventually finding an empty envelope on the desk.

I take a piece of paper and write down the words "we need to talk." I take the letter he sent, and the paper— and shove them both into the envelope.