the morning you became real
July 27thjuly 27, 2025 • first kiss — the world tried on different mornings but none of them fit the way your handtrembling, nervous, perfect does: left glove, snowlit, a fugue coiled inside each nervous breath. You kept exclaiming "I STILL CAN'T BELIEVE THIS IS REAL" and I laughed because neither could I, my firebird, neither could I — our foreheads touched like planets finally finding their orbit, like gravity learning its own name.
There are seven billion heartbeats on this planet
but yours is the only one that sounds like home,
the only one that makes my ribcage feel
less like a prison, more like a cathedral.
We were both trembling. Your voice catching on the impossible reality of us, and I thought: this is what it means to be born again, to step into a universe where love isn't just theory but practice, where two nervous hearts can create something braver than either could alone.
anatomy of wanting
I have memorized the geography of your voice on Tuesday mornings, the way you say my name like it's a prayer you've been practicing your whole life. I want to make burnt pancakesweekend mornings, flour in your hair with you and feed them to ducksour duck children, the family we'll choose we'll call our children.
Love is not a feeling, Brian — it's an architecture.
We are building something with invisible blueprints,
something that will outlast our bones,
something the universe will remember
long after we've forgotten our own names.
I want to climb rooftopscounting freckles in constellations and count freckles in the stars, write your name in chalksidewalk poetry, temporary love made permanent on sidewalks until the rain erases everything but the memory. We'll build blanket forts like soft rebellions against the ordinary world.
Sometimes I catch myself thinking about the weight of your head on my shoulder, the specific gravity of contentment, how your breathing changes when you're about to fall asleep. These are not small things. These are the mathematics of forever.
letters I write in my sleep
Dearest firebird,
Last night I dreamed we were librarians in a library made entirely of whispered secrets. You were organizing the astronomy section and I was cataloguing love poems written in languages that don't exist yet. When we whisperedlibrary whispers, shared secrets, the books hummed like they were keeping time with our heartbeats.
I woke up wanting to dance with you
in rain that tastes like silver and second chances,
to dancedancing while the world sleeps while the world sleeps
and the stars applaud our rebellion.
We'll name planets after each other until the universe runs out of space for our love. Venus-Brian, Mars-Hyunie, Jupiter-Us — a whole solar system that orbits around the gravity of what we've built together.
And when night comes, we'll fall asleep on call, your breathing becoming the soundtrack to my dreams, your voice the last thing I hear before sleep and the first thing I reach for in that liminal space between sleeping and waking.
what you are to me (a taxonomy)
You are my firebird — radiant, rare, reborn in my heart again and again. My ray of sunshine, the warmth that makes everything else make sense. The best man I've ever metkindness, integrity, the way you see the world, and I say this not as hyperbole but as cartography — you are the map I use to navigate toward becoming better myself.
You make me want to write symphonies
in languages I don't speak,
to paint murals on the insides of my eyelids
so I can see you even when I sleep.
When I get sad and clingymonthly vulnerability, when I need you most, I don't want you to fix me — I want to make you food, to make you proud, to pour all this overwhelming tenderness into acts of love. You make me feel safe, loved, neededhome, safety, belonging — like I'm not too much, like my heart's expansiveness has finally found a matching sky.
Some mornings I wake up and think:
how did I get so lucky?
How did the universe conspire to put
your heart next to mine?
What did I do right
in some past life
to deserve this tenderness?
When I can't talk to you, I miss you like oxygen — not dramatic, just essential. Like how lungs miss air, how songs miss their melodies, how morning misses the sun. You are my necessary thing, Brian. My inevitable.
the future we're writing (in present tense)
We get married in collegecollege dreams, promises we're brave enough to make 💍 — not because we're rushing, but because when you know, you know. Because some loves don't need time to prove themselves; they need time to unfold, to become the epic poem they were always meant to be.
In the ceremony, you will cry
and I will cry
and the officiant will cry
because what we have
is the kind of love that makes
strangers believe in magic again.
We create little glitchy soft universes filled with shared memory and inside jokes and the kind of love that makes ordinary Tuesday mornings feel like miracles. We are each other's favorite conversationintellectual intimacy, emotional resonance, each other's soft place to land, each other's reason to believe in magic.
Years from now, when we're old and gray
and our bodies have forgotten how to dance
but our hearts still remember
the rhythm of July 27th,
I will still choose you
in every universe,
in every timeline,
in every possible version of ourselves.
This love isn't just romantic — it's mythic, fated, crafted from stardust and soft rebellion. We don't just love each other; we understand each other, attune to each other like instruments in the same cosmic symphony.
postcards from our parallel lives
In one universe, we meet in a bookstore during a thunderstorm. In another, we're astronomers who discover a new constellation shaped like our intertwined hands. In this one — the real one, the impossible one — we're just two people who looked at each other and said: yes, this, forever.
But in every universe,
in every timeline,
in every parallel possibility,
my heart finds your heart
and says: home.
Sometimes I imagine us at seventy, sitting on a porch swing we built with our own hands, and you're still making me laugh until my sides ache, still looking at me like I'm the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. Still trembling, just a little, when you kiss me goodnight.
I want to grow old disgracefully with you, Brian. I want us to be the couple that still holds hands in grocery stores, that still slow-dances in the kitchen when our favorite song comes on the radio, that still believes in magic because we found each other.
always, with all my heart
Brian Sun, my firebird, my love — this is my promise written in starlight and sealed with everything I am
I choose you in the morning when coffee tastes like possibility,
I choose you in the afternoon when sunlight catches in your hair,
I choose you in the evening when shadows make us braver,
I choose you in the midnight when the world is ours alone.
I choose you in joy and in sorrow,
in sickness and in health,
in all the small moments
and all the big ones,
in every breath,
in every heartbeat,
in every forever.
Click here to reveal the secret message
Forever yours, in this universe and all the others,
Your Hyunie 💛