Dear Yuna,
I don't know why I'm writing this. You'll never read it. You're not here anymore—not in the way I want, not in the way that answers.
But maybe I need to say it anyway.
Maybe I need to feel like I'm still talking to you.
There's so much I never said when I had the chance. I thought we had time. That's the cruel thing about life—we think we have forever. So we postpone the "I love yous," the deep talks, the uncomfortable truths.
Now I talk to the stars. The wind. The silence.
I tell them about you.
I tell them about the way you smiled with your whole being, and how you made rainy days feel like warm blankets. How you made me brave without even trying.
I tell them I'm sorry.
Sorry for the days I was quiet when I should've asked, *"Are you okay?"*
Sorry for not knowing how heavy it had become for you.
Sorry I didn't hold your hand tighter when you started to let go.
But I also want you to know this—
I've forgiven you.
For leaving.
For the silence.
For the pain.
And maybe… I'm learning to forgive myself too.
I've painted things I never thought I could.
I've made peace with memories I used to avoid.
And I've begun to laugh again—real laughter, the kind that doesn't end in tears.
You'd be proud.
At least, I hope so.
This letter will stay here. Unsent.
Because you don't need to read it.
You already know.
You knew me better than anyone ever will.
And somehow, I still feel like you're listening.
Love always,
In-ha
—