Letters to you

My dear matcha lovers, I want to open this post with a little bit of Cinnamon Girl.

There’s things I wanna say to you, but I’ll just let you live.

I think those words are a fitting way to start what might be one of the more personal things I’ve written on here. This post comes straight from the heart. Raw, probably a little messy, and filled with all the emotions that come with being hurt, questioning things, trying to understand, and eventually, hopefully, finding some kind of acceptance and healing. So instead of my usual posts, this one will be a little different. A collection of letters, written along the way.

18.07.2026
An open letter to the person who made me believe love exists. To the person who felt like home. There is a very low chance you will ever read this. And if you somehow happen to stumble across these letters one day, I hope you’re doing well. I hope you found what you were looking for. And most of all, I hope you found your peace. Your quiet.

You came into my life unexpectedly. It started with random conversations. About life. About our countries. About the struggles of living abroad, far away from the people we love. About our hobbies. Food. Your dog, and the dogs that came before her. Travelling. Honestly, any topic you can think of, we probably talked about it at some point.

And then we met. I still remember that first time so well. You caught me completely off guard when you greeted me with a hug and kisses on the cheek, just like we do in Europe. I wasn’t expecting that. I mean, we were in Korea after all. But talking to you in real life was easy. Listening to your stories was comforting. It somehow felt like we had known each other for much longer than we actually had. I felt at ease around you. Like I didn’t have to think too much about what I was saying or how I was behaving. I could just be myself. We talked about everything. I told you about my past, about some of my struggles. You listened. And you opened up, too. The day went by way too quickly. And of course, we already knew we would see each other again. Something I started noticing was how you remembered the smallest things I told you. Things I mentioned somewhere in a conversation and immediately forgot about because I thought they were completely unimportant. But somehow, you remembered.

The second time we met, you took me to Costco because you knew going there at least once was randomly sitting somewhere on my bucket list. And afterwards, we ended up at your place. Cooking together. Cuddling with your dog. And then there was the bread. I don’t know if you would even remember this moment the way I do. We were about to leave so I could get my taxi. I was sitting at the table and you were standing at the counter, cutting your homemade bread. The bread you had actually wanted to give me the first time we met. You were just standing there, cutting bread. Nothing particularly romantic. Nothing extraordinary. And yet I remember looking at you and thinking: Yeah. That’s my why.

We spent more time together after that. And you made my last weekend before leaving for Switzerland special. Sometimes it felt like you only had to look at me once and somehow knew exactly what was happening inside my head. And then I had to leave. Saying goodbye wasn’t easy. I didn’t cry. At least not in front of you. As promised.

The weeks afterwards were different. Suddenly there was an ocean between us, and I found myself looking forward to your messages. They came. Just never regularly. At first, maybe two or three times a week. Then once a week. And eventually, the spaces between them became longer and longer.

I knew you were going through a difficult time. Dealing with things I wouldn’t wish upon anyone. And part of me wishes you could have felt comfortable enough to share some of that burden with me. But I guess people deal with things differently.

And somewhere deep down, I think I always knew this could happen. Funny enough, I think I already knew it while you were standing there cutting that bread. I knew that if this ever came to an end, it would hurt like hell. And I guess there is an end to this story now. Or at least to this part of our story. I still can’t fully grasp that, if I’m being honest. I think there is still a small part of me waiting for another message. An explanation. Something. Maybe I’m just delaying the hurt I know is eventually going to come.

You know, at the beginning of this year, I genuinely started believing that maybe love simply wasn’t meant for me. And then I met you. You were the first person who made me feel completely comfortable. I wasn’t scared of you knowing about my past or the things I’ve struggled with. Slowly, I even started becoming okay with the thought of giving up a little bit of the independence I’ve held onto so tightly for years. I started lowering some of those walls I had worked very hard to build around myself. And somehow, that wasn’t scary with you. You made me believe that I could love someone. That maybe my person was out there after all. But most of all, you showed the lover girl in me that there was still love around.

Do I know what you felt? Of course not. I can only speak for myself. But the way you treated me, the things you did and the way you were whenever we were together made me believe that whatever you felt was genuine, too. And despite everything, I still believe that.

So I think what I want to say more than anything is thank you. Thank you for showing me love. For giving me love. Thank you for showing me that vulnerability isn’t always something to be scared of. Thank you for listening to me and for giving me your thoughts when I needed them. Thank you for showing me that opening up is okay. That maybe giving up a tiny bit of my independence isn’t the worst thing in the world. But most of all, thank you for reminding the lover girl in me that love still exists.

You know, it’s funny. If I told my friends all of this, some of them would probably tell me that I should be angry. But I don’t want to be. And somehow, I don’t think I have it in me to be angry at you.

Of course I wish our story had unfolded differently. I wish there was a version where I came back to Korea and we simply continued where we left off. Maybe we would have ended up living together one day. With your dog, of course. Maybe, eventually, there would have been kids of our own. I don’t know. Those are thoughts belonging to a future that never happened. And I think I’m slowly learning that it’s okay to be sad about that, too. So wherever you are in life when, or if, you ever read this, I hope you found what you were looking for. I hope the struggles and demons you were fighting are long gone. I hope you finally get to rest your soul. But most of all, I hope you’re happy. And maybe, every once in a while, I hope you think about the time we had together. And when you do, I hope you remember it with a genuine smile on your face.

27.07.2026
At which point do I have to accept it for what it is? I keep asking myself that question. Because somehow, I still feel like I’m in denial. Like there’s this tiny part of me that hasn’t fully accepted that this might really be it. But at the same time, I can proudly say that I tried. I really did. I talked to you. I opened up about my feelings, in person and over text. I tried bringing some kind of consistency into whatever this was. I tried suggesting alternatives when things weren’t working the way they were.

And at some point, I guess I have to ask myself: when does not replying become intentional? I know life gets busy. I know there is a lot going on. And especially with you, I know there was more going on than most people around you probably realised. But at some point, even that explanation stops being enough. And maybe that’s the part I don’t want to accept yet. I’m trying to be angry. I really am. Maybe being angry would make this easier somehow. But I’m not. I just feel empty. And hurt. Not necessarily because of you as a person. I think I’m hurt because part of me believes that maybe you were never really ready for something new. Maybe you wanted to be. Maybe you genuinely tried to be. But maybe everything was still too fresh. Too fast. Too much. Too soon.

And I’m not blaming you for that. I know you’ve been hurt. I don’t know the full extent of it, and I probably never will. But I saw some of it. I saw it in your eyes. The hurt. The fight. How much everything seemed to drain you and how desperately you just wanted some peace. And maybe that’s why I can’t be angry with you. But I can still be hurt. Because while you were maybe trying to open yourself up to something new while still holding onto something from your past, somehow another person got hurt in the process. Me. And I think I have to finally allow myself to say that.

Because I loved you. I still do. There. I said it. And maybe that’s why all of this hurts as much as it does. It’s funny, because now when I read my books and there are those simple scenes where two people are just together, cuddling, talking, existing next to each other, I understand them differently. I know what that feeling is now. And I’m grateful that I got to experience it. But knowing that doesn’t make the hurt disappear.

Maybe one day I’ll be able to look back at everything and simply be grateful that our paths crossed when they did. But right now? I just wish they had crossed differently. In different circumstances. At a different time. Maybe then our story would have been different, too.

29.07.2026
Today, I’m actually a little angry. I don’t want to blame you. I really don’t. But there is this question that keeps popping up in my head, and lately, it’s getting harder to push it away. Why is it so hard to find the time to text back someone you genuinely care about? Someone you once said you wanted to build something with? And then, almost immediately after thinking that, I catch myself doing what I’ve been doing this entire time. Trying to understand you. Trying to understand your feelings, your battles, everything that has been going on in your life. Telling myself that maybe you don’t have the capacity right now. That maybe you’re struggling more than I know. That maybe there are things happening that I simply don’t understand.

But I’m tired, too. I’m sad, too. And I think I’m slowly starting to realise that understanding someone doesn’t make your own hurt disappear. Because somewhere deep down, something is beginning to dawn on me. I think this is going to be goodbye. I mean, I prepared myself for it. Or at least I tried to. But I guess you can only ever be so prepared for something you don’t actually want to happen. I know it’s going to hit me eventually. And when it does… well, it’s going to hurt like a bitch. But I also know I’ll be okay again. Maybe not immediately. Probably not for a while. But I’ve picked myself up so many times before, and I know I’ll do it again. There is one difference this time, though. This time, at least I got to know what it feels like to be loved and cared for.

And between us, while I’m sitting here writing all these open letters that you will probably never see, there is still this tiny part of me hoping that somehow, one day, you will read them. Maybe someone who knows the whole story, someone who was there from day one and watched all of this unfold, will somehow tell you that these letters exist. I know. It’s far-fetched. Probably very wishful thinking. But I don’t want to dismiss that feeling just because it isn’t particularly realistic. It’s there, so I might as well be honest about it.

Whatever life has planned for us from here, I hope you find what you’re looking for. I sincerely hope you find the person you need. Someone who can give you all the love you want and deserve. And maybe tomorrow I’ll be able to think about that and simply be happy for you. But today, I’m not quite there yet. Today, I’m just a little sadder that I couldn’t be that person. Today, it hurts a little extra.

31.07.2026
I think I did it. I finally put my thoughts out there and carried them to you. Not in some huge paragraph. No dramatic declaration or endless explanation. I simply told you that this kind of communication, the constant starting and stopping, isn’t really what I’m looking for. And, if I’m being completely honest, it isn’t what I deserve either. So why does saying that still feel so bad? I know there is nothing wrong with being honest about what I need. There is nothing wrong with setting boundaries when something is hurting me. And still, somehow, doing the right thing for myself doesn’t necessarily feel good.

I don’t blame you. Really, I don’t. Life is busy. Life is messy. Most of the time, we’re all just trying to figure it out as we go. I understand that. But can I be honest with you? Just for a minute? My heart hurts. It really does. And I’m trying to be strong right now. Trying to go about my day and keep everything together, at least until I finally have some time to myself. Maybe then I’ll let it hurt.

08.08.2026
I’m lost. It feels like every time I try to be open with you, you acknowledge it. For a moment, I think maybe you understand what I’m trying to say. Maybe something will change. And then we’re back at square one. Late replies. Long gaps. Silence. I’m lost, you know. Because I don’t want this. I know I don’t. And somewhere in my head, I know that eventually I have to be the one to put an end to it. But my heart isn’t there yet. My brain seems to know the truth already, while my heart is still desperately trying to catch up. If you knew how many times I’ve cried because of this, what would you say? Would it change anything?

You know, a few months ago I wrote something about how I was starting to believe that maybe love simply wasn’t meant for me. I wrote about the lover girl inside of me and how, somewhere along the way, she had started losing hope. And then I met you. For a little while, you made me question everything I had written back then. You made me believe that maybe I had been wrong. And now I feel sorry for her again. For that lover girl in me who finally allowed herself to believe in something, only to find herself sitting here trying to understand silence. Because that’s what breaks me. Your silence. The gaps. The not knowing. It breaks me, and I’m trying so hard to be strong. I really am. But I’m lost. What am I supposed to do? Is it finally time to let you go once and for all?

Because I do understand you. I have tried so hard to understand you throughout all of this. But I have feelings, too. And there is something else I need you to know. Do you remember what we talked about? My struggles. My experiences with people suddenly pulling away. Being ghosted. How difficult that was for me. You knew. And you told me you would be honest with me. That you would be open. So I can’t help but wonder: what did you gain from hurting me in exactly the way I told you I was scared of being hurt again? Maybe that’s unfair. Maybe there is an explanation I’ll never know. But right now, that’s the question sitting in my head. And if one day I finally find the strength to disappear from your life for good, I just want you to know that I still hope you find your peace. I really do. As for me? I’ll be okay. Don’t worry. I’m always okay.

19.08.2026
I decided to call this section Letters to you. Because somehow, this feels like the only place where I can still write down all the thoughts and little things I would love to share with you. Things I probably would have told you before. But somehow, we’re past that stage now. And honestly, I don’t even know what this is anymore.

I quit my job on Tuesday. I actually did it. And the first thing I felt was relief. I was so happy. But I was scared, too, because suddenly everything I’ve been planning is becoming very real. I’m going to move to another country and build my life from scratch. I’m scared as shit. I really am. And I wanted to tell you. I would have loved to call you and talk about what happens next. To tell you about my plans, listen to your thoughts and hear your voice on the other end of the phone. But I didn’t.

I started running. You know that already. And you also know how many times I said that I hated running, so honestly, I still find the whole thing a little funny. But I’m actually starting to enjoy it. I wanted to tell you how excited I was the first time I realised I could run a proper distance without taking a break. How nice it feels to just be outside, listening to my favourite songs and enjoying the moment. How I bought myself new pink running shoes because apparently everything else I wear while running is black and I needed at least some colour. I wanted to tell you how nice it is to go running with my brother. All those random, completely ordinary little things I probably would have sent you in a message without thinking twice about it. But I didn’t.

And right now, I’m on my way to Vienna. My oldest friend is getting married. I’m so incredibly happy for her. She deserves the world, and I’m already pretty sure I’m going to cry the second I see her. Maybe I’ve just become more emotional lately. Things like this seem to make me think about my own life a little more than they used to. And I wanted to tell you that, too. I wanted to tell you that I’m happy for her, but that somehow, underneath all of that happiness, I’m also sad. That right now, sitting here on my way to Vienna, I kind of just want to cry. I wanted to tell you. But I didn’t.

22.08.2026
For the past two days, I got to watch my oldest friend get married. I almost cried on the first day already. I’m so incredibly happy for her. And watching the two of them together made me think about love again. Not the big, dramatic kind we read about in books or see in movies. It was the subtle things. The way they looked at each other. The little touches. Those tiny moments between two people that probably don’t mean much to anyone else in the room, but somehow say everything. And looking at them, I thought: So this is what love looks like.

Then this morning, I checked my chats. I saw your messages. And for the first time, I didn’t feel anything. No excitement when I saw your name. No immediate urge to open the chat. No need to answer you or tell you everything that’s been happening. Nothing. And that scares me a little. But I think I know what it means. Actually, I think I’ve known for quite some time now. And strangely enough, it’s not even the fact that I’m starting to feel nothing when I see your messages that scares me the most. It’s what seems to be happening to the part of me that still believes in love.

Because lately, I’m genuinely starting to believe again that maybe love really isn’t waiting for me. I’ve given my everything. And I keep asking myself why, when I finally felt something, when I finally met someone who felt like home, it still had to become so complicated. Or maybe complicated isn’t even the right word. I don’t know. I just keep wondering why I had so much love to give. And you took that love. I gave it willingly. But somewhere along the way, I realised I wasn’t receiving what I was giving. And between you and me, with every day that passes, I think I’m losing a little more hope in love. I’ve told you multiple times that I’m okay. And I am. I will always be okay.

But right now? Man, I miss you. I really, really miss you. Right now, I don’t want to think about unanswered messages or long gaps or what any of this means. I just want to lie next to you again, wrapped in your arms. Or have you lying on top of me, your head resting on my stomach while I play with your hair. That’s it. Nothing complicated. I just miss you. I do. And maybe that’s the strange part about all of this. I can look at your messages and feel nothing, while at the exact same time missing you so much that writing this makes me cry. I don’t really know how both can be true. But apparently, they can. So I’m going to wipe away my tears and continue with my life. I’ll keep these thoughts here, in these letters. And then I’ll smile. Even if, right now, I feel like I’m breaking a little more with every day that passes.

27.08.2026
You know what? Today was the first time I was actually okay with letting you go. I was sitting on the train on my way home after a full day at the office. I was looking out the window, probably not thinking about anything particularly important. And somehow, I realised I was okay. I was okay with the thought of seeing you as just a friend. I was okay with checking my messages only once a week instead of wondering when something from you would appear. I was okay with not telling you everything anymore. I was okay with you not initiating conversations. With you not making the effort to call. And for the first time, I was okay with not initiating anything either. I was even okay with the thought that you might not be waiting for me when I come back to Seoul. And the strange thing is, none of those thoughts hurt the way they used to. I didn’t have to convince myself that I was fine. I didn’t have to tell myself that I’d eventually get over it or that I’d be okay because I’m always okay. I just… was.

Sitting there on the train, looking outside, I realised that maybe something inside of me had quietly changed without me noticing. Is this what moving on looks like? I don’t know. But if it is, I think this was the first time I felt it.

31.08.2026
I’m afraid of falling out of love with you.

10.09.2026
You know, I think I’m in a good spot now. It doesn’t hurt anymore when I don’t hear from you for a week. I don’t check my hidden chats anymore, secretly hoping that maybe you’ve reached out. I don’t wait for your name to appear on my screen the way I used to.

Of course, every now and then, I still get those random flashbacks. Little moments from our time together. How everything felt. And man, I loved you. Deeply. Maybe a part of me still does. And strangely enough, despite everything that happened afterwards, I’m thankful to you for that. Because you showed me that I could feel that way about someone.

For a long time, I genuinely wasn’t myself. I was miserable more often than I wanted to admit, and I became pretty good at hiding a lot of that pain behind a smile. But even with all of that, I’m thankful. I think there will always be a special place in my heart for you.

And yes, there is still something that hurts when I think about the possibility that what we had might have been worth fighting for a little more to me than it was to you. Maybe that part will hurt for a while. But I don’t think I need an answer anymore. Instead, I think I’m slowly becoming grateful for what all of this showed me about myself. You showed me how deeply I can love someone. How much unconditional love I have to give when I finally allow myself to give it. You brought the lover girl in me back out after she had spent so much time convincing herself that maybe love simply wasn’t meant for her. Although, between us? It might take a while before she decides to come out again. She has a few wounds to fix and a shitload of healing to do first. And healing is a process. It takes time. I think I’m finally okay with giving myself that time.

And who knows. Maybe one day, when I’m back in Seoul, our paths will cross again. Maybe we’ll sit somewhere over coffee and tell each other about everything that happened while we were apart. About where life took us and who we became along the way. And maybe, somewhere between those stories, we’ll both quietly remember what we once had. And what could have been.

And with this entry, I think I’m going to close these letters to you. There is still healing to do. Some days will probably be easier than others, and I’m sure there will still be moments when something reminds me of you and my heart hurts a little. But that’s okay. Because somewhere between the first letter and this one, something changed. I stopped waiting. And maybe that’s what I needed to do all along.

I don’t regret loving you. I don’t regret opening up to you or allowing myself to believe in something again. If anything, I’m grateful that I got to experience a version of myself that I thought I had lost somewhere along the way. The lover girl is still here. She’s just going to need a little time. And so will I. But I will be okay. I always am. So I won’t call this goodbye.

And if it’s meant to be, I’ll see you later.