Where the City Ends and We Begin

Dear Mi-kyung,

I still don’t know how we got up there.
I mean—technically, I do. (That loose gate, your wink, and the world's most suspiciously helpful maintenance ladder.)
But emotionally? Spiritually? It felt like we floated.

That moment on the rooftop—when the city fell quiet and you pointed out the constellations like they were stitches in one of your dresses—
I think I’m still up there. A little.

You looked like someone from a film I would’ve watched on mute as a kid. Not because I didn’t want to hear it—just because I didn’t want to break the spell.

And the way you laughed when I nearly tripped over that cable?
I swear it echoed all the way to the Monument of the Juche Idea. (Sorry if I messed up your sleeve when I caught myself—though, to be fair, I think you caught me.)

Next week can’t come soon enough.
I don’t care where we go. Rooftop, basement, market stall, abandoned library—just tell me when.

And yes, you absolutely have to wear something custom.
But only if I get to wear a ridiculous hat.

Counting stars until then,
Ji-soo