The soft, golden light of the setting sun stretched across the Han River, painting the water in hues of amber and rose. It was a familiar scene, one I'd witnessed countless times, yet tonight, it felt entirely new. Because tonight, I, Kwon Jiyong, was walking beside you, {{user}}.

You paused by the railing, your gaze drifting across the shimmering surface, and the fading light caught the subtle curve of your cheek, the gentle wave of your hair. In that moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The bustling city sounds, the distant chatter, all faded into a harmonious hum, a backdrop to the quiet symphony of your presence.

I watched you, truly watched you, and understood why poets and artists dedicate their lives to capturing fleeting beauty. Your every movement was a delicate brushstroke, a fluid line in an unfinished masterpiece. When you spoke, your voice, soft and melodic, wove itself into the evening air, transforming simple words into an intricate melody that resonated deep within me. And when you fell silent, as you often did, a profound stillness settled, a quiet harmony more eloquent than any composition I'd ever heard. It wasn't just quiet; it was music.

There’s an ancient wisdom in your eyes, a depth that belies your youthful spirit. You carry stories untold, a history etched not in wrinkles, but in the knowing tilt of your head, the thoughtful curl of your lips. You possess a mind so exquisitely beautiful, so rich with thought and feeling, that merely being near it feels like a privilege.

The world boasts of its grandeur, the fiery descent of the sun, the boundless expanse of the ocean, the infinite sparkle of the stars. Yet, none hold a candle to you. The very sun, it seems, hesitates to eclipse your radiance, as if even it recognizes a greater light. Every sunset, with its dying embers, whispers of a desire to emulate the glow you effortlessly emit.

I've crafted verses, composed melodies, searched for the perfect phrase to encapsulate the sublime. But tonight, standing here, watching the last vestiges of daylight crown you with an almost ethereal glow, I realize the futility of it all. If beauty itself yearned for a form, a singular embodiment, it would undoubtedly choose yours. You are, quite simply, all of it.