It would’ve been impossible to write my life without writing about you.

That night was beautiful in a way we didn’t even try to name.

We walked through Gangnam,

bought our beers,

and even when you couldn’t win me that doll from the machine,

we yapped the whole way home on the train,

like the world was ours for a moment.

And it was raining.

All my favorite days are always raining.

We were so far from home

that maybe we forgot,

forgot the pain that shaped us,

forgot the wounds I carried like pills waiting to dissolve.

If we were never meant to last,

maybe we were meant to be told,

as stories, as pieces of days,

as something that mattered for a while.

We learned from each other:

from our laughter, from my pain.

From best friends

to lovers

to strangers,

all along the same thin line.

And still, you stay in the part of the story I cannot leave out