As the postcard approached my fingertips, I could feel the adrenaline radiating from his being to mine. More than adrenaline now, the love, passion, lust, romance and kindness we once shared. He could never understand the impact our memories have on my life. Park was more than my love, he was my hero. As cheesy as it sounds, he exposed me to something more than my present circumstances. He revealed unconditional longing, unveiling my insecurities one by one. He was genuine and kind. He was mine. As my fingers graze the laminated paper, the memories begin to flow. My appreciation for him comes forth and I remember what we had and what we always will have. As I turned the post card around, only three words appear. Immediately my mind starts racing. So much comes to mind when I think of him, why is he so modest with his affection? Could it say "I love you"? Maybe even "I miss you," that would be enough to ease my nerves. I finally shut my eyes and allow the fondness of Park rush over me once more. The reassurance of his touch and genuine spirit. Finally my eyes reopen and I gain the courage to look over the words only to find the kindest thing anyone has ever said to me:
"Miss you bitch!"