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I always think the girl in the white shirt is you. That fleeting memory keeps growing in my mind, over and over. The small details are carved into the moment I first fell for you: the light, lovely tap of your steps, your white shirt swaying slightly. I could never deny that you were beautiful. For years, it has stayed with me, folded neatly in my memory.

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Once again, of all the encounters I've imagined, the girl in the white shirt turns out not to be you. But if it ever is you, I won't let the moment slip away. This time, I'll find the courage to say hello again. Just having you in my memory makes me feel alive. Imagine what it would be like to actually see you again.

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I miss you so much. I keep going back to the night we sat with two of our friends on the balcony of the building east of Tugu, soaking up the evening's warmth. It felt like a farewell dinner after four years of studying in that city. Now I miss talking with you like that. It's okay if, the next time we meet, I only get to listen to your beautiful stories from the South. Because what I miss is simply you being there.

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I always imagine, and hope for, everything with you. Wherever I make my home, whatever ground I stand on, I always think I'll run into you. Just once would be enough for me. I truly want to see how beautiful you are now, to hear your warm laugh and see your eyes narrow so sweetly.

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