I have spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to determine whether writing this is wise, and the answer changes depending on the hour. In the morning, it seems reckless. At night, it seems unavoidable. There are certain truths that become increasingly difficult to keep to oneself, and I suppose I should begin with the thing I have avoided saying directly; I’ve yearned for you for so long. I did not spend every day staring mournfully into the distance, Younjungi. My life continued. There were obligations, distractions, ordinary routines. I laughed, I worked, and I met people, and still, somehow, you remained as always.
A few days ago, I was sitting on a bus when I noticed that the seat beside me had been abandoned on account of a small puddle of water. Nobody seemed particularly eager to claim it. For some reason, my first thought was that you would have sat there anyway, and that I would have insisted on giving you my own seat so that the silk-made garment you happened to be wearing would remain unharmed. It was a ridiculous thought, but then I realized I had spent several minutes thinking about you without first deciding to do so. I have noticed this happening often, and though it may sound rather sweet, I am not entirely at peace with how easily it comes to me.
Younjungi, the first time I heard from you again that one night, I expected many things… perhaps awkwardness out of all things, but I did not expect to discover that the person I had spent so long missing was still exactly the person capable of undoing me, and I confess something else; the years have not improved my objectivity. If anything, they have ruined it, I remain shamefully vulnerable to anything that bears your imprint upon on it. You can mention something entirely ordinary and I will find myself thinking about it hours later! How silly I am. I have tried, many times, to understand why, but I couldn’t seem to find any answer other than the fact that—what else could it be—my heart always longs for you, Younjungi. How disappointing for my pride, how revealing for my heart.
The truth is that seeing you again has been a disaster for all the careful conclusions I spent a year constructing. I had arranged everything so neatly, and part of me thought we should’ve ended there, somewhere, far from where we are supposed to be today, yet I discovered that my heart had remained embarrassingly unwilling to reach the same inference as the rest of me. After a few conversations I realized that time had accomplished considerably less than I had given it credit for; you remained every bit as captivating as I remembered, and I remained every bit as susceptible. I found myself admiring you exactly as before, perhaps even more than before. I know, I know, a grown man should probably possess more dignity than this, but I can hardly argue with it. My heart appears to have spent the past year preserving a verdict that reason had long since declared finished, and all you had to do was return for it to feel vindicated and for it to begin saying, rather smugly, “see?”
Unfortunately, I have decided to abandon dignity altogether, Younjungi, because I find that I no longer wish for a life in which you merely pass through it from time to time. I wish to belong somewhere within yours, if you would allow me. So I find myself faced with a very simple problem. I wish to be there for the ordinary days, the uneventful conversations, the small annoyances and the happy accidents. I have spent too long missing you, and these past weeks have only made me realize that I do not wish to lose you a second time.
And before I ask anything of you, it occurs to me that I have spent all this time circling around a sentence that would have spared us several paragraphs. Then again, perhaps this entire letter was only ever an unnecessarily complicated way of saying something remarkably simple, because there is, I think, a certain cowardice in me that requires several paragraphs to say what ought to fit into three words; I love you. There. The words look almost absurd in their simplicity after everything that came before them, but perhaps that is because the most important truths rarely require elaborate language, and I have already hidden this one long enough.
So I will ask you plainly, this time, I intend to see courage through to its conclusion. My Younjungi, after all this distance, and after being fortunate enough to know you twice, would you try again with me and take this unyielding heart of mine back into your keeping?
Yours, should you have me,
