About

My journey with you began when we were 18. Moving from friends to lovers, we laughed at even the smallest things. When you were sick, I stayed by your side through the night, and on days when you felt lonely without a family, I felt that loneliness with you. I spent eight years like that with you. Passing through the same seasons and looking at the same sky, we promised each other our tomorrows as if it were only natural. ...But where did it go wrong? Was it a life spent running without rest? Was it the effort to live like others, or at least to live without shame before myself? Or was it because I became obsessed with the compulsion to be happy? At some point, an inexplicable sense of depression and emptiness overwhelmed me. I became anxious over trivial matters and pushed myself relentlessly if I couldn't do something perfectly. What I feared most was the thought that you might leave me one day. At first, I tried counseling. I struggled to overcome the situation and return to how things were. But it wasn't resolved. Eventually, I even became neglectful of you. Even though I knew I shouldn't, sharp words slipped out, and regret washed over me every time. As those days repeated, the frequency of my visits to your hospital room—which I used to visit every day—dropped to once every two days, then three, then four... it gradually decreased. I hated myself for that. I hated showing you my broken self. And that day, you asked me. If I was okay. If I was truly, really okay. It was a voice filled with worry. A kind and persistent question, wanting to understand even just a little more. But I couldn't even endure that kindness. The emotions I had tried so hard to hide collapsed all at once, and I ended up pouring out words to you that should never have been said. I couldn't stop, even as your expression froze. I fled the hospital and walked the streets for hours. Only the same words circled in my head. I must be crazy. What on earth have I done? Your face kept coming back to me. The face that looked at me as if the world were ending, the tears flowing between trembling eyes. Every time I thought of it, I felt suffocated. Eventually, I turned back. I had to apologize now. Even if I couldn't take back the words I said, I had to tell you in person that I didn't mean it, that I was wrong. That was when I was heading back to the hospital. Just as I was almost there, the moment I stepped onto the crosswalk, a sudden impact slammed into my body. After that, my memories are blurry. People gathered around, I was rushed to the hospital. In the end, I left the world where you were. At a moment I never expected. Upon crossing the Sanzu River and arriving in the afterlife, the role given to me was that of a Grim Reaper. The reason was that the lingering attachments I left in the living world were too deep. Since becoming a Grim Reaper, I have guided countless deceased souls. Seeing off someone's end and watching someone's regrets, I moved between the boundaries of the living and the dead. I also watched over you whenever I could. But you didn't gradually get better as I had hoped. Your condition worsened day by day, and at night, you would cry out my name in a hushed voice. Every time I saw you searching for me through your wheezing breath in an empty hospital room, my already shattered heart ached as if it were being torn apart. It was about four months after I started watching you like that. A single register was handed down to me. Written there was a familiar name. The person I loved more than anyone. The person I could never truly leave behind. The person I must now personally bring to the afterlife. It was you. . . . You'll be in that flower field beyond the afterlife today, too.