Dear Ji-soo,
I wasn’t going to write again so soon.
But then this happened.
They called it “inappropriate for public service.”
Too vivid. Too suggestive.
As if color itself could conspire.
It was one of my new designs for the Ministry —
I thought perhaps, finally, we might be allowed a little softness.
A sleeve that moves, a line that dares to breathe.
But their smiles were made of glass.
They spoke of duty, of dignity,
as though warmth were a form of disobedience.
Since that meeting, I can’t stop thinking about you.
About how the air once changed around you —
how the room felt less mechanical when you laughed.
It’s absurd, I know, to miss someone in temperature and shadow.
But absence has a climate of its own.
I’ve been sewing late into the night,
threading silence through fabric,
pretending it’s just work.
It isn’t.
Can we meet?
Somewhere quiet, before the season turns.
There are things that don’t belong in letters —
tones that only make sense when shared in the same light.
If you come, wear that ridiculous hat again.
It still makes the world look less gray.
Yours —
Mi-kyung
Mi-kyung
Ji-soo
