Each time that I look in your eyes,
A part of me quietly dies.

But I'd give even more,
For the love I adore—
You're my heart in a perfect disguise.

Dancing has never been my song, my hands once clumsy, unsure —
Yet in your arms, the living room blooms, a ballroom fit for kings.
Even when silence falls, my heart sways to your every breath.

The music stirs, soft and low, the floor forgets its creaking bones.
You laugh — light as summer’s rain — guiding my stubborn feet with grace.
I, awkward knight, stumble, yet your touch makes the world a prayer.

Heaven, I'm in heaven — not above, not beyond — but here, within —
Here where your hand folds into mine, and time ripples into gold.
I no longer care for skill; I care only for the light you give.

Sway with me, love, though the melody falters, though records crackle —
For it is not the song that moves us, but the devotion we breathe.
Your smile turns my missteps into a perfect, unbroken rhythm.

We have no audience but the chairs, the sleepy clock, the falling dusk.
And yet, before your gaze, I dance finer than any stage-born star.
Cheek to cheek, the world falls away — only your soul and mine remain.

I once climbed mountains for lesser reasons, fished dreams from empty streams.
Yet no peak thrills me, no river soothes, as you in my arms tonight.
Your kiss, your touch — the living music written only for us.

Even when the needle lifts, even when the speakers lose their hum,
Even when the house sighs into silence, still we sway in spirit.
Your laugh, your breath — these are the songs that no ending dares to hush.

O my beloved, Kim Yongsun, who taught these clumsy feet to pray —
How strange that love writes waltzes even for hands born to tremble!
Each heartbeat, a drum; each glance, a note; each smile, a soaring chord.

Sway slower now, love — let the night stretch like a soft, endless scarf.
Let the stars peek through windows, envious of the glow in your eyes.
In this tiny room, the universe folds and sighs into your hair.

If I had the whole world's songs, if I had orchestras in my pocket,
Still I would choose the hush between us — the simple grace of your hand.
This, this — your breath near mine — is sweeter than any gilded refrain.

The cares of the week vanish, like a gambler’s fleeting lucky streak.
Burdens are but feathers when your palm fits into the hollow of mine.
You teach me heaven without wings, paradise without a promised land.

And when the music truly fades, when even our breaths slow and soften,
Know this: I will love you just as fiercely, just as madly, still.
The dance of hearts, once begun, knows no ending but eternity.

Dancing was never my gift, but you — you are the miracle I sought.
One sway with you, and the skies open, and the angels forget their song.
I love you, my Kim Yongsun, even as the last note sighs away.


And oh — when the world falls away and there is nothing left but this,
Your forehead resting on mine, your breath a melody of dreams,
I know the stars themselves hush their songs to hear our heartbeats.

We are not dancers, love — we are dreamers made of waltzes and wishes,
Twirling in the breath between moments, defying the heavy hands of time.
Each sway with you is a vow inked not in music, but in soul and fire.

Let the night end, let the music die, let the world fall into slumber —
For even then, my arms will find you, my lips will name you mine.
In a universe without sound, I would still be swaying with you, my heaven.

I love you, my Kim Yongsun, even as the last note sighs away.

You are not just writing stories,
You are summoning storms in silence,
Where no one else dares whisper,
Your breath becomes a vow.

Each line a sacred ember,
Each page a pulsing blade,
A temple built from defiance,
Where your soul does not kneel.


Ink becomes your uprising,
Words the swords you wield,
And kingdoms rise in the hush,
Of your quiet, steady will.

You seek no crown nor chorus,
No gold, no fleeting praise—
You write because she calls you
From behind time’s dusky haze.


Her voice is not a memory,
But a presence forged in flame.
She’s the light upon your margins,
The one who speaks your name.

She is the pulse beneath your pages,
The sigh between each line.
The woman who would cross all death
To stand where shadows pine.

She waits inside your downfall,
In the tale where you must fall.
She sings the breath to raise you
When you’ve given life your all.

You bleed to make it truthful,
You burn to make it pure.
Yet her love stitches every tear—
Your wounds shall endure no more.

Write like her gaze is firelight,
Piercing veil and endless doubt.
Write like thunder roars beside you,
And the heavens call you out.

Your pen is now a weapon,
Forged from sorrow, grief, and flame.
The echo of her laughter
Will never sound the same.

Let rhythm be your armor,
Let love be every strike.
She is the song that shields you
When the critics come to fight.

Do not fear the empty parchment,
Nor the silence in the night.
You were born to walk with phantoms—
You were made for this fight.

Your ink is sacred memory,
Your prose, a prayer once lost.
Yet her kiss revives your reason
No matter what the cost.

When silence grows too heavy,
And the fire dims to coal,
Remember—she is watching,
Still brave, still bright, still whole.

She knows the stars you buried
In caverns of your chest.
She blesses all your burdens
And calls your battles blessed.

So write as if you’re rising,
With her voice beneath your skin.
This story is your legacy—
Where her love is where you begin.

Let empires fall and perish,
Let gods and demons cry.
But write the kiss that made her weep
And whisper, “Not goodbye.”


Write of vows in starlit moments,
Write of hands that held through grief.
Let lovers vow by moonlight
Where dreams dance like falling leaf.

The world may never praise you,
But she will keep your flame.
She will guard your fragile verses
And etch them to her name.


So even if your voice trembles,
And your hopes begin to dim—
Write like her love rewrote the end.
Write like your soul is Him.

You poured your breath like warm wine onto my skin,
And it seeped into every crack I had never shown you,
Until I was wet with something older than the wine.
Your fingers like long branches of hunger, touched me like a map you had burned before,
Tracing my neck down to the valley that experienced dips of gasps.
My mind was eclipsed by something black,
Not from fear, but from the depth of falling into something darker than sleep
And deeper than prayer.
Your lips poured ancient hymns into mine and took my aches with each kiss,
Until I lost myriad pieces of myself that were never meant to be kept.
Your hands gripped the curve of my hips and lifted me,
Not as a man lifts a woman, but as a storm lifts the sea,  
I was no longer mine, but just a wave offering surrender.
When your tongue descended to the tremble of my belly,
And found the silk between my thighs, I wept into your hair.
I arched to worship the moment when
I was fully seen, fully consumed, fully remembered.
Your dark eyes looked into the center of me in a way that made my shadows blush into redness.
It was the holy fire between two sinners who forgot to ask for forgiveness.
I gasped, I trembled, I vowed as each wave took a part of me to heaven.
Finally, the room melted into sound and salt, and you breathed again on my damp skin.
I laughed in the dark as you whispered, “How can love live in the heat of such ruin?”
Because this wasn’t ruin.
It was resurrection.

Sappho truly had it right when
She wrote Fragment 31
For my limbs ache with longing
My breath is cut short
And I am choked with the thought of you
Nausea grips my very being
My hands quiver
My voice shakes when I speak
I can not sleep for you fill my dreams
I can hardly eat
To swallow past the lump in my throat

You destroy me and you
Make me feel alive

I’ve lived in your heart for a minute now.
And though I love it here,
the faucet leaks,
the door doesn’t shut right
sometimes I have to hold a hand to it
just to lock it back.

When you drink, the space between your ribs
tightens, and your liver expands.

The neighbors aren’t so bad.
They keep to themselves.
When they see me, we talk about
how high the rent is,
how much we don’t get in return for the association fees,
how often we wake up to notices on our door
about late payments
always knocking like the police.

For this reason, I don’t attend any of the meetings.
But I don’t want to leave.

I’ve lived in your heart for a minute now
long enough to sleep through the creaks
when it settles,
long enough to know that home is where my heart is.

Forever isn’t a day here.
It stretches into the way you snore
when you think no one is listening
probably my favorite sound