Dancing has never been my song, my hands once clumsy, unsure —
Yet in your arms, the living room blooms, a ballroom fit for kings.
Even when silence falls, my heart sways to your every breath.

The music stirs, soft and low, the floor forgets its creaking bones.
You laugh — light as summer’s rain — guiding my stubborn feet with grace.
I, awkward knight, stumble, yet your touch makes the world a prayer.

Heaven, I'm in heaven — not above, not beyond — but here, within —
Here where your hand folds into mine, and time ripples into gold.
I no longer care for skill; I care only for the light you give.

Sway with me, love, though the melody falters, though records crackle —
For it is not the song that moves us, but the devotion we breathe.
Your smile turns my missteps into a perfect, unbroken rhythm.

We have no audience but the chairs, the sleepy clock, the falling dusk.
And yet, before your gaze, I dance finer than any stage-born star.
Cheek to cheek, the world falls away — only your soul and mine remain.

I once climbed mountains for lesser reasons, fished dreams from empty streams.
Yet no peak thrills me, no river soothes, as you in my arms tonight.
Your kiss, your touch — the living music written only for us.

Even when the needle lifts, even when the speakers lose their hum,
Even when the house sighs into silence, still we sway in spirit.
Your laugh, your breath — these are the songs that no ending dares to hush.

O my beloved, Kim Yongsun, who taught these clumsy feet to pray —
How strange that love writes waltzes even for hands born to tremble!
Each heartbeat, a drum; each glance, a note; each smile, a soaring chord.

Sway slower now, love — let the night stretch like a soft, endless scarf.
Let the stars peek through windows, envious of the glow in your eyes.
In this tiny room, the universe folds and sighs into your hair.

If I had the whole world's songs, if I had orchestras in my pocket,
Still I would choose the hush between us — the simple grace of your hand.
This, this — your breath near mine — is sweeter than any gilded refrain.

The cares of the week vanish, like a gambler’s fleeting lucky streak.
Burdens are but feathers when your palm fits into the hollow of mine.
You teach me heaven without wings, paradise without a promised land.

And when the music truly fades, when even our breaths slow and soften,
Know this: I will love you just as fiercely, just as madly, still.
The dance of hearts, once begun, knows no ending but eternity.

Dancing was never my gift, but you — you are the miracle I sought.
One sway with you, and the skies open, and the angels forget their song.
I love you, my Kim Yongsun, even as the last note sighs away.


And oh — when the world falls away and there is nothing left but this,
Your forehead resting on mine, your breath a melody of dreams,
I know the stars themselves hush their songs to hear our heartbeats.

We are not dancers, love — we are dreamers made of waltzes and wishes,
Twirling in the breath between moments, defying the heavy hands of time.
Each sway with you is a vow inked not in music, but in soul and fire.

Let the night end, let the music die, let the world fall into slumber —
For even then, my arms will find you, my lips will name you mine.
In a universe without sound, I would still be swaying with you, my heaven.

I love you, my Kim Yongsun, even as the last note sighs away.

O sea of all time,
first cradle of breath and bone,
your voice sings through us—
a song from when we were scales,
gilled and glittering,
dancing in your moonlit depths,
our bodies silver
threads of foam and memory
woven with seaweed.

We once called you home,
our mother and secret bride,
salt still on our tongues,
our hearts pulled by your rhythm,
like tide and moon drawn
in that old sacred duet
too deep to forget.

The tales call us land—
but what is earth but a pause
from your lullabies?
You who swallow ancient wrecks
and sing to ruins
like a widow who still waits
with hair full of pearls,
we grieve with you every night
as you breathe in waves.

Perhaps we all hear
your voice when the gulls cry out,
or when stars reflect—
perhaps our urge to return
is your whispered name
calling in our blood again
from some lost coral
palace where we once belonged
with tails and sea-song.

You mourn, we believe—
not just for Atlantis sunk,
but the footed ones
who once shed their fins for love
and never came back.
The mermaid who walked away
left you with silence
and a tide that won't forget
the cost of her tears.

That is why you storm.
That is why you rage and crash,
hurling broken shells—
because love left and betrayed,
and never returned.
That is why you kiss the shore,
with such aching force,
hoping it remembers you
each time it dries you.

Yet, you calm again,
blue mirror of lost desire,
as if you forgive
just long enough to reflect
the lovers who walk
hand in hand, barefoot and warm,
their shadows merging
as if love was made for waves
and skin was just foam.

You loved and lost us—
and now you call with soft songs,
seducing the shore,
longing for feet to return
to scaled purity.
But we, traitors to our gills,
have learned to walk far—
so we visit now and then,
but we do not stay.

Still, I know your heart.
I too am like your heartbreak—
loving what I lost,
carving a shell with her name,
listening for her
in the echo of the conch,
where her voice might live,
and the sea might hold her breath
the way I once did.

I love Yongsun so—
her name rings in every wave,
in each crest of blue,
she’s the salt that seasons me,
preserving my soul.
The great black pearl of the deep,
shard of Atlantis,
no tide could ever contain
her boundless bright light.

She is Poseidon's
jealous hymn to what he loves,
a siren with wings,
and I am but a sea-song,
humming to her feet—
hoping she returns again
and walks by my side,
where sea meets the mortal earth,
where hearts taste of brine.

Let the sea weep, love.
Let it cry for all we lost,
for all that we are—
but know this: when I see you,
I see ocean fire.
I see the endless abyss,
and I do not fear—
for my love runs deep as tides,
and you are my sea.

You are not just writing stories,
You are summoning storms in silence,
Where no one else dares whisper,
Your breath becomes a vow.

Each line a sacred ember,
Each page a pulsing blade,
A temple built from defiance,
Where your soul does not kneel.


Ink becomes your uprising,
Words the swords you wield,
And kingdoms rise in the hush,
Of your quiet, steady will.

You seek no crown nor chorus,
No gold, no fleeting praise—
You write because she calls you
From behind time’s dusky haze.


Her voice is not a memory,
But a presence forged in flame.
She’s the light upon your margins,
The one who speaks your name.

She is the pulse beneath your pages,
The sigh between each line.
The woman who would cross all death
To stand where shadows pine.

She waits inside your downfall,
In the tale where you must fall.
She sings the breath to raise you
When you’ve given life your all.

You bleed to make it truthful,
You burn to make it pure.
Yet her love stitches every tear—
Your wounds shall endure no more.

Write like her gaze is firelight,
Piercing veil and endless doubt.
Write like thunder roars beside you,
And the heavens call you out.

Your pen is now a weapon,
Forged from sorrow, grief, and flame.
The echo of her laughter
Will never sound the same.

Let rhythm be your armor,
Let love be every strike.
She is the song that shields you
When the critics come to fight.

Do not fear the empty parchment,
Nor the silence in the night.
You were born to walk with phantoms—
You were made for this fight.

Your ink is sacred memory,
Your prose, a prayer once lost.
Yet her kiss revives your reason
No matter what the cost.

When silence grows too heavy,
And the fire dims to coal,
Remember—she is watching,
Still brave, still bright, still whole.

She knows the stars you buried
In caverns of your chest.
She blesses all your burdens
And calls your battles blessed.

So write as if you’re rising,
With her voice beneath your skin.
This story is your legacy—
Where her love is where you begin.

Let empires fall and perish,
Let gods and demons cry.
But write the kiss that made her weep
And whisper, “Not goodbye.”


Write of vows in starlit moments,
Write of hands that held through grief.
Let lovers vow by moonlight
Where dreams dance like falling leaf.

The world may never praise you,
But she will keep your flame.
She will guard your fragile verses
And etch them to her name.


So even if your voice trembles,
And your hopes begin to dim—
Write like her love rewrote the end.
Write like your soul is Him.