The first day of spring came quietly.
No grand sunrise. No dramatic bloom.
Just a softness in the air. A feeling.
I stood by the window, coffee in hand, and watched the light stretch across the floor. It touched the walls gently, the way you used to touch my hand when words failed you.
And I realized—I wasn't waiting anymore.
Not for the pain to end.
Not for the memory to fade.
Not even for you to come back.
Something had shifted in me.
Not like forgetting.
Like beginning.
I picked up my sketchbook—an old one, the one you gave me. Inside were empty pages I'd once been too afraid to fill.
But now… I drew.
I didn't think. I didn't edit.
I just let it happen.
The lines moved freely—less like grief, more like breath.
You were still there, between the pages.
But so was I.
A new version.
One shaped by loss, yes—but not broken by it.
You see, Yuna, you were my beginning.
But now, I am my own.
I'll keep painting.
Keep loving.
Keep showing up for the life that keeps unfolding.
I'll fall. I'll ache.
But I'll rise again—every time.
Because the greatest tribute I can give you… is to live.
Fully.
Honestly.
Softly.
And maybe one day, someone will look at my work, feel something they can't name, and carry it with them.
Just like I carry you.
And when they ask what inspired it, I'll smile and say—
*A girl who taught me that even the deepest love can survive goodbye.*
This is where I begin again.
Not without you.
But because of you.
— *The End* —