To Kim Namjoon

Firstly, I love you and not a day goes by without missing you.

You were the kind of person all good, lovable humans deserve because you were one yourself. I believe what we give, we get back.

I believe that you were the man that was destined to change everyone's lives. For the better. You were the one too good for this cruel world. You were the one taken too soon. Although, I didn't know you long. I knew you enough.

My parents don't ask me about you anymore, my friends have forgotten how much you meant to me and how big of an influence you had on my life. They don't know about your wise teachings at midnight, your humorous jokes and how you'd speak poetry. No one knows and no one cares. When you don't know someone personally, it doesn't hit the same. They think about it for a while, sympathy flashing on their faces briefly and then they move on. They have no idea how many times you run through my mind every day.

Don't you get tired of running? You'd make a joke like that.

Let's be honest, how can anyone forget you? You're not the kind of person people walk away from, never taking a single glance back. You left your permanent imprint on people and everyone wanted to know you better.

I'm lucky I was one of those people. I could and will, never forget the way you looked in a crowd at a concert. Anyone could spot you from a mile away, you jumping up and down, the spirited music flooding through your veins. It was your happy place to feel the music. Music is like poetry! You'd shout and I'd shout back. I will never forget the way your eyes looked when you tried to stay awake, half-open, short eyelashes on display. I will never forget your fashion sense, scarves, cardigans, baggy jeans and how it attracted looks, how it showed comfort and amazement.

There was more to you than your beige hair, the soft strands of your chaotic hair, your oval, chocolate eyes and how they looked when the sunshine hit them, your tall frame and your autumn coloured cardigans, your rowdy laughter that you covered with your hand, your dimples, your voice-

Fuck. I'm crying... I've tried writing this letter twice.

It's really hard.

There was more to you than just your appearance. That's what everyone knew or saw. I mean yes, that smile you showed when you were really cheerful did make my insides melt. I never told you how much I loved your smile. You know the one where your nose scrunched and your eyes closed, your lips turning up? It made me so damn happy.

There was, of course, your careful words and advice that stayed with people for longer than you realised. It was about how you loved sitting outside with a book on a cool day, when the sky was clear and blue. How you had a bullet journal filled with dreams and pressed flowers that would always fall out. How you loved going on long walks with a coral umbrella just in case it rained and if it did rain, you'd forget to use it. It was about how you forced yourself not to think about anything bothersome, wanting to enjoy life in everyday. How you put people first before you, how you advised them patiently. How you never fell in love (but could've) yet everyone around you found themselves fallen- fallen for an incredible man who attracted wonder.

Fallen for the man whose life was taken away too soon.

You were an unbelievable friend. One I had the honour of meeting in a cafe where you complimented my handwriting. I wished that you'd be someone I'd get to keep for a lifetime, someone that wouldn't leave me.

But you did. Unintentionally.

Cancer.

The deadly disease crept into your body and you changed.

I became so close with you so fast. Our friendship blossomed in just a few weeks. It was your influence. You always liked road trips under a starlit sky, singing at the top of your voice to the radio but you also liked careless afternoons on the couch. Let's watch Netflix, you'd say. But then, you became someone who wouldn't get out of the house. You let your lethal side take over understandably and I tried my best to understand you. But how can you?

Your sickness was fine and stable for a few months. I took you to your appointments, check-ups at the hospital and I made sure to tuck you in your bed every night. You seemed just like yourself, just a more tired, quieter Namjoon. You'd let me read to you sometimes and that was precious to me.

You stayed you inside. You didn't let the sickness bother you. You acted like it didn't exist and I was amazed. You tried to make others laugh and smile, tried to see your friends whenever you could, and you even smiled at yourself in the mirror when your hair started to fall out. My wig has been snatched! I still laugh at that. You were just sick, and everyone thought you'd get better. You made us believe. Sick was nothing.

But then you told me simple news that haunted me. I'm fine- you said, trying to make me feel better.

I remember crying for days, under my covers, in the shower when you told me you didn't have long to live. The tears wouldn't stop and I hated it. I wanted to be strong for you. The doctor told you a week ago, but you held my hand tightly and whispered you were terrified. Death is terrifying.

We'd been friends for a year, yet it felt like several years, several years of sincerity and companionship because of you mainly. I thank you for the effort you put into us.

You let the truth slip from your lips one night on your couch, a comedic movie on your TV. I'm going to die in less than a year- you told me with no expression on your pasty hollowed face, the tone of your voice showed me how you couldn't continue fighting, your conflicting mind and thoughts elsewhere as you waited for me to react.

I couldn't say anything because my throat ached. I felt pain rush through my body and I didn't want to believe. All I remember is that I held onto your hand, my small one clasped in your big one as I hugged you tightly all night. You couldn't even hug me back.

Please don't go- I whispered. It's now that I realise just how selfish and foolish I sounded. It wasn't your fault and you never had any control. But I was losing my good friend.

Not even quickly but slowly.

Days passed with me trying to get you out of bed, me making sure you had nothing but good days that were full of joy and readiness, surrounded by your friends and family. I threw temporary parties for you with party hats, crumbly birthday cakes with whipped icing and your favourite songs playing in the background. Music that made you jump, turn hyper and dance.

My favourite moment is when you turned a year older and I surprised your loved ones and you with a song that you produced. Music was your life. I thought you'd get mad at me for sharing it with the unknown crowd, but we made eye contact from across the room, me taking in your baseball cap and you taking in my hooded jacket. You smiled and had emotional tears in your eyes. I cried in the bathroom that day.

I tried really hard to make you cheerful every day. I tried to take you out of the house, making sure you had your daily walk with me. Your energy was reducing. I tried to get you to see your friends and family. I never gave up on you because you deserved nothing but the best. A happy ending.

Some days you'd cooperate, and we'd have a good day out. We'd watch the birds. Sometimes you'd have a fit and once you shouted at me- you're with me every single day, give me space and get out of my sight!

The doctor said it was normal. That you were thinking too much, feeling too much and that the one thing you were thinking about the most was the countdown to your death.

I couldn't think about it. I avoided the thought at all costs. I let myself walk into this manipulating illusion that you'd live with me, that we'd be helpful friends forever. That forever exists. That God or life isn't cruel, and you'll recover. But God or life is cruel because ten and a half months, after your diagnosis, you left the world and me.

You passed away in your book and blanket filled living room when no one was with you. You were unaccompanied in your home, collapsed onto the floor with a glass of water shattering onto the wood as you banged your head. Why did you have to die alone?

Your best friend found you and he called me first, sobbing onto the phone, asking me what the fuck to do. It must've been traumatising for him. I was breathless just hearing him.

I couldn't sit in the ambulance or the waiting room in the hospital. I sat outside and prayed for the first time, hoping you'd survive.

But you didn't.

Your best friend came to break the miserable, awaiting news to me after talking to the doctor, taking a seat beside me on the bench. Your loss was confirmed and even though I prepared myself for this moment, it hurt. Your two friends sat in the brisk cold, on a bench as he smoked his cigarette, the two of us silent and mournful.

The last time I saw you and talked to you was that morning. We had breakfast together which I made for you especially. I came to your apartment with a new book for you to read, a new record for you to play and a bag of ingredients. You sat on the chair in the kitchen, watching me as I flipped pancakes, popped a berry into my mouth and danced to a song we loved intensely.

You were happy that morning. Your dimples, your laughter and your smile told me that. Happiness was hard to read with you sometimes but you looked like you were at a concert. You even told me you loved me before I left. I miss you so much.

One day, we'll reunite.

I hope you're resting in peace you stunning soul.

I loved you for who you were. You're the best memory.

I could never leave you alone. Serenity.