There have been a lot of thoughts that have cycled through my consciousness this past month. Most of these thoughts revolve around him since I see him in the smallest details of my life. At the Los Angeles airport, I saw the bakery that my older sister had catered her wedding cake from, which took me back to the actual night of her wedding. My younger sister and I had sat down with him in our hotel room and happily ate the leftover tier. No forks, just spoons in our hands, eating scoop after scoop of vanilla-strawberry goodness. Only later did we realize that we had completely forgotten the tradition that newlyweds are supposed to freeze their wedding cake and eat it a year later. These sorts of recollections are tinged with a sadness but also a nervousness--that all I'll have are these sad things to remember but he will still be absent.

I think about him at the most arbitrary moments triggered by random images and sounds. A funny sound made by a tail-less cat, a sweet moment shared between my feisty grandparents, an awkward encounter with twice, thrice-removed members of the family. It is in these moments that the dark corners of my mind that used to be dim with contentment are now lightly soaked with subtle sorrow. I see his silhouette, but it's simple a ghost of a thing that used to be real.

I'm able to better suppress the sadness now--the sadness of not speaking with him, the sadness of missing him, the sadness of having lost him. It's still there in my life, but softly, only a whisper right now. He's still there. Ironically and rather unfortunately, his absence is a reminder of his presence. It's unfair, this gloominess that stays with me, a constant presence that lurks around me. But I learn to cope as best as I can because I don't know what else to do to win him back.

I know that this is my life now. We are apart, and though I earnestly hope that our paths will cross again, some deep unspoken part of me knows that this is the end. He will go his way, I will go mine. This is why I cry, why I listen to break-up songs on repeat for days on end, why I desperately cling onto my phone and text or call anyone who's willing to deal with me that moment.

I've told myself that this is the last time I will openly speak of this breakup. It's been a month, and I'm sure people have read my posts, have rolled their eyes and thought, "She's still whining about it? Pathetic." So this is it because it's already over; no amount of tears or poetry will change that. This isn't the path I chose, but it is the way I will walk. This is how I say goodbye.

It's been nice to be in Korea. The change of scenery makes it easier to swallow the sadness into darker, more unknown places. I'm able to cope. Standing amidst all the other passengers in the subway or walking on the uneven, cobblestone sidewalks, I feel like he was nothing but a figment of my imagination--someone I created during a happier, more peaceful time in my life. But reality always manages to resurface, and with it comes the blunt force of loss.

Blinking away the last moments of sleep is the hardest. I dream about him still. Last night, I dreamt we were sitting in his car and were just talking. Nothing extravagant. All we did was talk. It was the simplicity that made it feel real. It felt so real that I deeply sunk into belief that this is my life as I know it now. So waking up and realizing that this was a thing of the past... Is it sad that a small part of me feels connected to him because I have these dreams? People keep telling me that it's not healthy to cling onto these visions. I know. I know I should let them go. I know I have to let him go. But easier said than done, right?

In the meantime, I'll try to enjoy Korea as best as I can because this is the country I love. And even though there are small reminders of him even here, this is the country that makes me feel the most myself, the most free.

There will be moments when you think you know a person, really know her. You think you understand how this person thinks, how she functions, how she reacts. But in those moments, I advise you to stop. The minute you think you know, you cage this person within your own limited perception. She is not who you think she is. She will simply be a creation of your own thoughts. She is no longer free to be who she is but limited to what you think you know.

A person is a myriad of thoughts, a million little pieces coming together to compile the atoms and cells and organs that make up who she is, at her essence, at her core. How could you possibly think that she can be contained?

Love is a strange thing. I struggled to find what books, movies and rumors call "The One," a person who will accept you, understand you, and embrace you for all that you are despite your flaws and inconsistencies. So there I was, searching and searching in hopes of finding someone who would accept me, understand me, embrace me.

And one day, I finally found him. My interest only further peaked when he unveiled an interest in me. He asked me questions about myself that even I didn't know the answers to. I pondered them, rolling them over in my hand like smooth stones that are soft to the touch but full of weight. We talked for hours on end. Even as the sun would rise over us, it made no difference. Our curiosity in each other was consuming and the lapsing time was but a marker of the minutes of our lives overlapping, connecting, merging. In the dusty pink dawns after cutting our conversations short to include brief moments of sleep, I layed in bed and thought to myself, I have finally found him. A year later, two years later, three, four, I felt confident in calling him mine. He was mine. And I believed it.

So where does that all go now? Where do I put those emotions that have grown roots so deep? How do I let it go when it still tugs at me?

On my walls, there are holes where our pictures used to be. Little white squares in the middle of a collage of stationery knick-knacks that I've collected from the world.

And just like that, he's gone.

Yet, I can't help but save the memorabilia that's him. He'll stay with me, in a small box, in the darkest corner of my closet because I still hope. I close my eyes and hope with the inner core of who I am that this is not how things will stay.

I imagine us fatefully meeting, casually talking. I imagine me putting up the pictures we took together back into the small empty spaces in my wall. I imagine us being happy again.

This is not forever. I hope that this is just for now.

The stuff of books and songs and movies are real--heartache really does feel like your heart is being wrung out by the disbelief that he's not in your life anymore. Every time realization hits, I get the wind knocked out of me, and there I am, crying again. But it's not a cry that is cathartic anymore. Instead, it feels tedious like folding laundry or watering the plants; it's just something that has to get done. I'm exhausted, even irritated with myself. The incessant self-loathing, the steady grieving, the never-ending questions circle around me, and I'm dizzy trying to keep up with all of these thoughts.

I know that this isn't what I wanted; I know that I cry because of the frustratingly silent separation. But I'm here. And slowly, I'm making do. Slowly. Today, I surprised myself with how loudly I laughed at someone's jokes, how easy it was for me to genuinely smile at the woman at the checkout stand.

This limbo is not what I wanted. But I am here. What else can I do but live my life?

Everything reminds me of him. His words, his reactions, his laugh linger in the background now. Is that so bad? The memories haunt me ever so lightly, a silent breath that lets me know that he is there still.

And, yet again, more waiting rests on my shoulders.

Silence is an odd companion. But sometimes, he's all that I have. And I remind myself that silence grows you. In the silences, you unravel who you are and slowly piece the oddities together. Your thoughts ring truest in the deep silences as you ponder and reflect. It is in silence that peace can rest on your shoulders.

천천히,
모든 옷들이 축축하고
따뜻한 이불도 다 젖었다.

And so reality hits me right now, real and raw, with no gentleness at all. This week has been the hardest--the incessant fluctuation between false laughs and constant tears makes me dizzy; the anticipation of waiting to hear from you is the ticking seconds inching by. I try to keep busy with the things of life, but I just keep waiting for you. I'm still waiting for you. But am I just waiting for a ghost?

You don't know it, but the last few nights you were with me. I saw you. Somewhere in the depths of my mind, I saw you. Because in the final moments of my sleep, you were here--your eyebrows, your mouth, your freckles, your eyes. I see your features, hazy with the glow of sleep then hazy from a gauze of tears.

I'm sorry.

To undergo the withdrawals of a person is painful. It is the sound of seconds passing by, it is watching the sun rise and the night settle, it is feeling the day get drawn out longer and longer and longer still.

Night after night, I have imaginary conversations with you. They are the only things that make me feel sane. I still have thousand questions I need answers to. So I talk into my pillow, hear my voice resonate in my head, hear it sullenly echo within the cavity of my chest. And in the faintest whisper, I hear you respond--a voice of memory, a voice that sings of sadness, but the only source of consolation that lets me sleep ever so briefly.

The sun rises again, and the seconds pass by, the night settles, and the days are drawn out, longer and longer still. I wait to hear your voice again.

Que será, será
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours to see
Que será, será
What will be, will be