"For Mi-Chan,
If you're reading this, it means my body gave out before my love did.
I hope I went in my sleep. That's what they said would be easiest. I just hope you
weren't awake for it.
Not because I didn't want you there. But because I didn't want our final moment to
be me slipping. I wanted it to be laughter. Or that time I spilled tea on my shirt and
blamed the mug.
I wanted your last memory of me to be love — not loss.
So here it is. My last entry. My final letter. My gift to you, written in the last days
when my hands still listened to me."
_________________________
June 20:
The window's open.
The moon is full.
And I can't sleep.
It hurts too much now — not just my body, but the weight of all the things I haven't said out loud.
So, I'm writing them here.
Because I know you'll find this after I go.
Because you always find the pieces of me, I try to hide.
Tonight, I want to write you into forever.
Not the way books do.
But the way stars do.
Scattered and shining, long after the source of light is gone.
To Mi-Chan:
You were never supposed to stay.
I thought you'd leave.
After the first fever.
After the weight loss.
After the quiet lies that grew too heavy.
But you stayed.
You stayed through the shaking hands and the soft goodbyes I never said aloud.
You stayed even when I gave you nothing but silence.
And that — that's what saved me.
You see, people always think love is loud.
Fireworks.
Grand gestures.
Midnight confessions.
But you taught me love is in the small things.
You loved me in the way you peeled oranges so carefully.
In the way you kissed my forehead when I couldn't lift my head.
In the way you stayed up reading to me when I couldn't speak anymore.
You were my voice when I had none.
My hands when mine trembled too much to hold a pen.
My heart when mine beat too slowly.
You were my home.
2:46 AM
I think this is it.
I can feel it.
The tired is different now.
It's not the tired that needs a nap.
It's the tired that means letting go.
I don't know if I'll make it through the night.
So I'm writing what I would've said if I'd had more time.
I love you.
I love you when you're sleeping.
When you're angry.
When you're holding back tears in front of the nurse.
I love you for every diary page you filled with hope when I was giving up.
For every "You're okay" whispered like a spell.
For every tear you thought I didn't see.
You gave me something no medicine ever could: peace.
You made dying feel like falling asleep in the arms of someone who never stopped choosing me.
3:11 AM
If I go soon, I want you to promise me something.
Not that you'll forget.
Never that.
But that you'll live.
Not just survive.
Not just wake up and eat.
But live.
See Paris.
Climb that stupid bridge we talked about.
Put our lock there.
Write the book.
Call it whatever you want.
Just make it beautiful.
Because you are.
And you always were.
3:38 AM
I'm scared.
But not of what you think.
I'm not scared of death anymore.
I'm scared of how much I'll miss you.
Even after.
I believe I'll still feel you.
That I'll linger somewhere in the warmth of your cup.
In the wind that brushes your cheek just before a memory surfaces.
In the way your hand reaches for another's one day and pauses — because it remembers mine.
But if I'm wrong…
If there's nothing after this…
Then let this letter be the thing that stays.
Let these words live where I no longer can.
Let this be the heartbeat you reach for when yours feels too alone.
4:00 AM
They say people know when it's time.
I think I do.
My eyes are heavy.
My chest hurts in a way that doesn't feel fixable.
I want to stay.
God, I want to stay.
To grow old with you.
To argue about tea flavors and watch our hair turn grey.
But if I can't…
Then let me leave you with this:
You were my forever.
Even if we only got months.
Even if we only got a handful of sunsets and one last dance.
I would do it all again.
The sickness.
The pain.
The breaking.
If it meant I got to love you.
Even just once.
Even just briefly.
Even just like this.
4:16 AM
You'll find the ring in the bottom drawer of the nightstand.
It's not much.
Just something I bought when the word "remission" still felt possible.
I didn't get to ask.
But I want you to wear it.
Not as a promise unfulfilled.
But as a promise kept.
Because in every way that mattered, you were mine.
And I was yours.
4:22 AM
I'm getting tired now.
The words are harder to shape.
The lines blur.
But I have one more thing to say.
And I need you to read it again and again when the nights get too quiet:
You didn't fail.
You didn't lose me.
You loved me all the way through.
And that's more than most ever get.
4:30 AMIf this is my last breath…
Let it be for you.
Let it be full of your name.
Let it be full of tea and stars and the sound of your voice.
Let it be light.
And let it carry my love across whatever comes next.
Until I find you again.
In some other life.
On some other page.
With new hands.
But the same heart.
Yours. Always.
– Jung-Kyo
________________________________________________________________
Final Note from Mi-Chan:
June 24 – After Everything
I read his last entry sitting on the bench near the hospice garden.
Alone.
But not lonely.
Because he was there.
In the wind.
In the pages.
In the way my hand still reaches toward the sun.
I wear the ring.
I carry the letter.
I drink tea every morning and whisper, "Thank you."
I still cry.
But I also smile.
And that is how I know I'm healing.
Not moving on.
Just moving forward.
With him.
Always.
— Mi-Chan