Words of Existence

When I first spoke to you, nothing much stirred within me afterward. The words were just that—words, weightless, utterly ordinary. But slowly, as I watched you up close, as I began to feel you—unknowingly, I fell in love. Yet I knew staying together wasn't possible; that realization settled into my heart like an unspoken ache. Sometimes it felt like dependence, sometimes like a small happiness, and sometimes like unbearable pain.

From that feeling, I wrote you a letter one day. I thought we'd never see each other again. But after reading what I'd written, you encouraged me in such a way that all my thoughts came alive anew. From then on, I couldn't get you out of my head—all day I'd think only of you, sketching your presence in my imagination, each moment's echo settling you deeper and deeper within me.

I began taking notes then, words accumulating on my phone screen. I gathered the courage to send you something for the first time, and you said, "I liked it." That phrase seemed to push me further toward writing. After that, whenever something came to mind, if I couldn't write it down immediately, everything would vanish from my head. Until I'd written it out, a fierce restlessness would work through my mind.

Do you know, every piece I've sent you, I probably wrote in just 10-15 minutes! Then I'd edit again and again, taking time to arrange each word perfectly. Most often I'd wake up in the deep of night and start writing about you. Sometimes, feeling you so intensely while writing would exhaust my body terribly, and I'd even get a fever. I don't know why!

This is my secret truth, the mystery of my writing. Do you understand how much I love you?
But to write about you, I have to feel you, understand you, see you. Because truly, the title of every piece I write is you, you hide between every line. I think every time—this piece might be the last, I won't be able to write anymore, won't be able to send you anything more. But your small message, where you say 'I liked it'—that alone compels me to write again, to sketch you even more deeply in my imagination.

Now I don't even communicate with you properly. Have you noticed, I always send you a piece and ask—"How was it?" Actually, this question isn't just about checking the quality of the writing, it draws me closer to you.

I feel so much for you, I'm so compelled to write! After all these years by your side, could anyone write about you this way? I don't know. Maybe they could, maybe they couldn't. But I suspect—true love is like this, isn't it?

You know! When I was listening to your writing, I felt like you were writing while I sat quietly in front of you, watching you. I was gazing at you unblinkingly, yet you weren't looking at me...

Yesterday it felt like you'd come very close to me. After so long, I felt a strange peace deep in my chest. When did I slip inside your heart and fall asleep...
You know, sometimes I suddenly catch your scent. Sleep begins to come, as if you're all around me, just like before.

Is this real? Or just hallucination?