https:///watch?v=WIdOq9cSj7c

  I.Yongsun, my love, do you know I want to love youLike a croissant wants butter, through and through.Like socks in a dryer that always find two—Not one left behind, not blue missing blue.I want to write you in napkins and songs,In notes stuck to fridges, in karaoke gongs,In the hum of my charger that sings when it’s near,In each noodle I slurp, you somehow appear.I want to love you with nacho cheese fire,With popcorn confetti and fondue desire.Like a koa in cling-mode, bold and uncouth,I will love you on rooftops, in poems, in truth.With heart-shaped balloons stuck to my hairdo—Like a croissant wants butter, through and through.

  II.Like a croissant wants butter, through and through,I want to spread my love across your day.Like jam on toast—chaotic, sweet, and new—My love gets messy, but tastes fine anyway.Let me love you like squirrels love parkour,Like autocorrect that insists “duck” is pure.In typos and tangents, in pixels and print,Even my memes are sprinkled with your hint.My life is a sitcom with ugh tracks on cue,You're the jingle I hum when I'm stuck in a queue.I’ll love you like pizza loves extra cheese,With garlic, bad breath, and infinite ease.Like jam on toast—chaotic, sweet, and new—My love gets messy, but tastes fine anyway.

  III.My love gets messy, but tastes fine anyway,Even in traffic with horns full of spite.Even when Netflix forgets what I py,Even when socks escape into the night.I love you like charging cords love to twist,Like dreams that star us in a foggy mist.You're my favorite bug in a clumsy app,My lulby in a sleepy time trap.You're there when I trip on invisible air,When my fridge hums secrets to kitchenware.You’re my compass when GPS goes rogue,My muse when I blog while petting a toad.Even in traffic with horns full of spite,You’re the jingle I hum when I'm stuck in a queue.

  IV.You’re the jingle I hum when I'm stuck in a queue,The smiley emoji I can’t overuse.You’re the skip in my step, the boop to my “boo,”The one I would choose in each game of “choose.”You’re the zing in my soup, the soul of my rice,The ping in my phone that makes pin things nice.You're the muse of my spam folder’s sweet dreams,Appearing mid-snack in my wild whipped cream schemes.In broken WiFi, your signal still shines,You’re the reason I stare at traffic signs.The hope in each Google Doc I forget,The reason I keep 3 arms all set.The smiley emoji I can’t overuse—You're the skip in my step, the boop to my “boo.”

  V.You're the skip in my step, the boop to my “boo,”The glitter that tickles my sleepy haze.The sunbeam that photo-bombs every view,My cake-topper joy, my year-long birthday phase.I love you more than cats fear cucumbers,More than group chats dread unsent numbers.I want to love you in dance and freeze-tag,With stickers, and post-its, and dramatic drag.Let me love you in puns and parfaits,In bubble tea bursts and dad-joke clichés.Let my love be loud, like kettle drums cheer,Echoing “YONGSUN” from far and near.The glitter that tickles my sleepy haze—The sunbeam that photo-bombs every view.

  VI.The sunbeam that photo-bombs every view,You fsh in my soup spoon, in skies so blue.You're the guest star in all of my daydreams,Wearing shades and lip balm in moonbeams.You’re in traffic lights that blink “kiss her now,”In all subway ads, somehow in a brow.You are my wish, tossed in vending machine,The “free snack” moment, unseen but serene.In my pylist, you’re that surprise delight,That B-side track that gives dull days flight.You're the glove I find when one hand is cold,My toast’s missing half that turns to gold.You fsh in my soup spoon, in skies so blue—You're the guest star in all of my daydreams.

  VII.You're the guest star in all of my daydreams,The one who moonwalks through mundane scenes.You’re the reason spoons become tambourines,And I talk to pnts with musical themes.I see you in clouds shaped like giant toast,And love you most when I spill the most.I write your name in foam on my tte,Mouth it in malls and during ballet.Let me love you like WiFi loves rebooting,Like socks love mystery and sudden looting.You’re the bookmark in all my half-read books,The cozy in every ‘I’ll learn to cook!’The one who moonwalks through mundane scenes—And I talk to pnts with musical themes.

  VIII.And I talk to pnts with musical themes,Because missing you makes me weird and bold.I hum “Be My Baby” in day-old jeans,While holding cabbages like purest gold.You’re the reason I danced in aisle nine,Clutching pickles and cheap boxed wine.My kisses get shipped like cargo at sea,Labeled “FRAGILE – LOVE – RETURN TO YONGSUN, KIM.”And though the ocean pys tricks with its tide,I send you hugs with moonbeams as my guide.The pines whisper your name through electric leaves,The night tickles me with dream-thieving thieves.Because missing you makes me weird and bold—While holding cabbages like purest gold.

  IX.While holding cabbages like purest gold,I write odes to your nose, proud and cute.To your sleepy pout, both brazen and bold,And the way you sip tea like it’s a flute.I send kisses via awkward delivery,Wrapped in haikus and te-night revelry.Sometimes they miss and nd on mail trucks,Or cling to old shoes with broken ce lucks.Even forgotten, like ancient anchors,My love floats by like sea-borne pranksters.The piers sigh when I wait and wait some more,Longing like malls before they open doors.I write odes to your nose, proud and cute—And the way you sip tea like it’s a flute.

  X.And the way you sip tea like it’s a flute,Should be framed in the Louvre, next to a lute.You py my heartstrings like a moody song,Even off-key, you're where I belong.Let me love you like ducks love puddle stomps,Like sweaters love fall and Halloween romps.You are the moon’s tick-tock in my chest,The reason why stars never seem to rest.Even when life makes no toast pop up,You’re my jam, my butter, my teacup.Let the world glitch and loop and rewind,You’re the joy my broken codes always find.Should be framed in the Louvre, next to a lute—You py my heartstrings like a moody song.

  XI.You py my heartstrings like a moody song,With jazz hands, glitter, and coffee that’s strong.You're every season’s weirdest, brightest dress,A cosmic toaster with zero distress.Even shadows look brighter when you pass,Even clumsy feels elegant en masse.You’re the artist that made rain taste like light,The one who taught socks how to love the night.Your name is the password to every joy,The bug in my code I won’t uninstall, boy.Let the pine trees sing your name in Morse code,I’ll write it in fog on my grandma’s Ford.With jazz hands, glitter, and coffee that’s strong—You're every season’s weirdest, brightest dress.

  XII.You're every season’s weirdest, brightest dress,My favorite glitch in love’s GPS.You waltz through my life in polka-dot shoes,Flinging confetti on Monday blues.You turn WiFi drops into poetry,And cold leftovers into destiny.You are my signal in subway tunnels,My heart’s pop song with infinite funnels.You’re the pun that outlives the clever meme,The marshmallow queen in my cocoa dream.When batteries die, your voice recharges—You build me a house with rainbow garages.Even in silence, your love rings true,Yongsun, my love, do you know I want to love you?

  Epilogue: The Quiet Where You AreIn the silence, where all bright music hides,I find you lingering—where soft love abides.You’re in the hush between piano keys,In moonlit murmurs and rain-tossed seas.You are the wish that nterns dream to be,The prayer stitched in each breath quietly.You're in the day's rain, gentle and wise,In summer's wind and winter’s low-slung skies.You are my strength when I begin to fold,My whispered courage when the nights feel cold.You are my hope, my pulse, my starlit thread,The thought that tucks me in when light has fled.If love is a world, then you are its core—The silence, the music, and everything more