- sorry
dearest namjoon,
it's winter now.
the benches at the park
where we used to talk on
for hours unend
are packed with snow
and i can't even sit there
to write this letter
as i wished.
instead,
i'm writing this
in your studio.
you're right, joon.
it does smell like
my strawberry lotion.
i don't know if you can tell
from wherever you are,
but
i'm kind of dying here.
lately,
you're all i ever think about.
your dimples were my moon,
and i haven't seen the moonlight
in what felt like years.
your intelligence, my stars.
you used to say that
since you couldn't give me the stars.
you'll just give me your
poems and paintings.
but they were better than the stars
because they shone just for me.
and the love you gave me,
my sweet joon.
it was my strength.
i would wake up
everyday,
just to see if you'd miraculously
be right there
beside me.
that by some odd miracle,
you'd come back
even though i was the one
who had left.
it's no secret
that i cheated on the most
faithful boy in the world.
his name was kim namjoon.
and, like a flower,
i crushed him beneath my feet.
i don't think i can
hate myself enough for
seeing a weed
when you were clearly a rose.
for the first time,
i can't trust the police.
they tell me you were a psycho,
some kind of mad man.
that paint was all over your floor
because you were a total maniac.
and they theorize that
your death,
your suicide was caused
by a mental illness.
and i laugh in their faces,
them and their pity looks
because you died
and the fault is mine.
i left you
for some douchebag
that gave me love
more artificial
than a desk lamp.
and i knew you were the only
person in the world who
could ever love me in such measures.
but i left you, still.
because, like a fool,
i believed that you'd always be there
if i fail to find someone else.
but i was wrong.
because you weren't there
when i searched.
you were gone, and now
i'm dying too.
namjoon,
how i miss you.
the painting of the ryesong river
that i found in your closet
can accurately represent
just how much tears i've cried for you.
it makes me sick
how badly i had ruined you.
you saw all of my wildflowers
and loved me
when i didn't.
you believed i painted you
the blue skies
when you were the one
who had taught me how to paint.
and the rainy days—
they are now raging storms.
even the news can't explain it.
but i know that somewhere,
somehow,
the rain is coming from
your very own eyes.
i'm so
so sorry,
namjoon.
i'm sorry that i didn't love you
when you were alive
and i left when you told me to stay.
you made flowers grow
where it never rained,
and now the flowers are dying.
they're gone. and that's my fault, too.
and most of all,
i'm sorry for ruining you.
you were an unfinished painting,
a life barely lived,
and the only person who could
finish the painting
had left you.
and that was me.
only me.
you were just a lovesick boy
and i was the only one who could
heal you.
your only medicine
was me,
but i figured it out
after the symptoms had killed you.
in three days,
you'll be buried under
our cherry blossom tree
and so will this journal
of shattered glass
and broken hearts.
remember when you wondered
what the cherry blossoms would feel
once they fall?
well,
the cherry blossoms will be happy.
because now,
they'll land
right where you are.
oh,
the snow stopped.
winter here is just beginning
and it's freezing
in your studio.
i guess it's time to
end this apology letter,
but i can't exactly send this anywhere,
so i'll add this in your journal.
i don't want this letter to end
because i'm afraid it'll truly be
the end.
but what matters is you'll see this.
you'll read this. i know you will
somehow.
truly and only yours,
lee meia
p.s.
you used to always say
that i'm the girl you don't deserve,
but now i see that it was me
who didn't deserve you.
p.p.s.
i'm sorry.
the end.
