Dear Diary,
There's a kind of heartbreak that doesn't shatter all at once.
It doesn't scream.
It doesn't fall to its knees.
It just slowly… stops hoping.
That's what today felt like.
Not the end.
But the moment just before it — when you still pretend everything might be okay, even though you already feel the world collapsing in your chest.
I looked him in the eyes today.
I begged him.
And he cried.
But he still didn't say it.
And that silence hurt more than anything he could've confessed.
1:13 PM
I didn't plan to go over.
I'd told myself I wouldn't push.
That I'd wait until he was ready.
But I woke up to silence.
No good morning text.
No "I'm okay."
And I couldn't take it anymore.
So I packed a small bag — soup, warm socks, a handwritten letter I'll probably never give him — and walked to his place.
The sky was overcast.
The streets too quiet.
Everything felt like it was holding its breath.
2:06 PM
He opened the door slower than usual.
His eyes were red.
His hair unbrushed.
He looked like someone who hadn't slept in days.
He smiled — barely.
Said, "You didn't have to come."
"I wanted to," I said.
"Still."
I stepped inside before he could say more.
Because I knew if I waited, he might say something that would make me leave.
And I wasn't ready for that.
Not yet.
2:33 PM
He sat on the couch.
I sat beside him.
We didn't touch.
We didn't speak.
There was just this space between us — the kind that used to feel like peace and now feels like mourning.
Finally, I asked, "Are you going to tell me what's happening?"
He blinked.
Turned his head.
"I already told you. I'm tired."
"You're always tired."
"It's just stress."
"You're losing weight."
He didn't answer.
"You don't eat. You don't sleep. You can't walk for ten minutes without getting dizzy."
Still silence.
"You missed my birthday."
"I said I was sorry."
"You said you fell asleep."
"I did."
I looked down at my hands. My knuckles were white.
"You lied about the hospital paperwork."
He flinched.
That was the moment.
The second I saw him start to crack.
"I didn't want—"
"Don't," I said. "Don't tell me it was a friend."
He swallowed hard.
"I'm scared, Jung-Kyo."
He closed his eyes.
"I know."
"Then tell me."
He didn't.
He just sat there.
Crying.
3:17 PM
I've never seen someone try so hard not to fall apart.
He didn't sob.
He didn't scream.
He just folded in on himself like a paper bird set too close to the fire.
I moved closer.
Held his hand.
His grip was weak.
I whispered, "You don't have to protect me."
He shook his head.
Still no words.
"Whatever it is," I said, "I'm staying."
He looked at me then.
Eyes wide.
Desperate.
"I didn't want to lose you," he said.
"You won't."
"But I'm not who I was."
"I know."
"I'm scared you'll start to resent me."
"I won't."
He looked away.
Whispered, "I might not get better."
And there it was.
The truth.
Not in words.
But in the absence of them.
He still didn't say it.
But I knew.
We both did.
4:02 PM
We sat together until the light started to dim.
He leaned into me, forehead against my shoulder.
I ran my fingers through his hair.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to shake him.
Tell him to stop hiding.
That I'd rather hold the truth than hold his ghost later.
But I didn't.
Because I knew he wasn't ready.
And maybe… neither was I.
5:03 PM
Before I left, I kissed the inside of his wrist.
He looked at me like he wanted to speak.
But didn't.
Just nodded.
And I walked away.
Not because I wanted to.
But because I had to.
Because sometimes love means giving someone space even when all you want to do is stay.
7:45 PM
I wrote in my sketchbook tonight.
Not words.
Just shapes.
Colors.
Lines that looked like silence.
And shadows.
And grief.
I drew his eyes.
How they looked when I said, "Tell me."
How they looked when he cried.
And I realized something I've been afraid to admit:
He's already telling me.
With every missed meal.
With every sleepless night.
With every soft lie dressed in concern.
He's saying: It's me.
It's happening.
And I don't know how to tell you I'm dying.
9:23 PM
I lit the candle again.
Lavender and pine.
The one he gave me before the fear set in.
I watched the flame flicker.
And I whispered, "I love you."
I don't know if he'll ever be ready to say it.
To name the monster growing in his body.
But I will.
I'll keep loving him.
Even when the words stop coming.
Even when the light starts to go.
Even when I'm the only one left speaking.
Because love doesn't need a name to be true.
It just needs a place to stay.
And I'll stay.
– Mi-Chan