I thought that with age, everything would become much easier. With experience, understanding people should become easier. But as practice has shown, the older you get, the more difficult life becomes.
A few years before my death, I truly believed that I understood people well. But one event put everything in its place. I was like a matchbox from which matches were taken out one by one until there was nothing left inside. The strike pad wore out, and instead of looking for new matches, I put the box aside. In a sense, I threw myself away, right? Even if I had a choice, I would probably have done the same.
All those warm feelings, such as love, care, and concern, had a negative side — intrusiveness. And the closer a person became, the more distinct it felt. The closer the relationship, the less room there was for yourself — because the concept of "we" supplanted "I."
It was one of those things that everyone had to either put up with and deal with in their own way, or give up altogether.
I lay on the bed, covering my forehead with my hand, and stared blankly at the ceiling. The only sound in the apartment was the relentless ticking of the clock. No matter how hard I tried to stop it, it continued relentlessly, announcing every step that had been taken.
However, this was nothing new. From the outside, it might even seem that I had once again plunged into the ocean of everyday routine.
To tell the truth, I was slowly recovering from... Hmm? From what? From rejection? But I didn't get it. Then what was it? I don't know. I wasn't entirely sure what had happened. The girl disappeared before I could finish speaking.
Most likely, she really did reject me. Not directly, of course.
The fantasies I indulged in were based on nothing. She was just being nice to me, nothing more. I knew that. But still. But still... The Rubicon had been crossed.
It was wrong to make things up for others, especially when it hadn't worked before. Even if I thought I knew a person, I couldn't understand them. Relationships always remained complicated. No matter how much you learn from your mistakes, it's impossible to prevent new ones.
In retrospect, perhaps this whole journey is what we call experience. It's a little funny that I never managed to use it in my lifetime, and after death, I was too slow to figure out the situation in time. It's important to always look at things soberly. I always tried to follow this principle, but it turned out to be extremely difficult to maintain clarity of mind when the mind is consumed by groundless hopes. Because feelings, like a raging ocean, sooner or later find a breach in the dam of reason. No, it turned out to be impossible.
Returning to that moment...
.
Out of habit, I reached down to take off my shoes, but when I looked down, I saw that I was barefoot again. Yes, of course. I checked my feet—they were clean. Always clean, even after long walks. Practical.
We walked through the hallway and soon found ourselves in the kitchen. Small and cozy — just as I remembered it. Everything was in its place: the table, a few chairs, even a small scratch on the back of the one that was used most often. I guess that's what they call a favorite, isn't it? I ran my hand over it, as if brushing away invisible dust.
In reality, someone else had probably been living here for a long time. Maybe they had remodeled the kitchen, changed the furniture, thrown away things that had once been part of my life. Or maybe the landlord had concealed the fact of death in this apartment by throwing away the unnecessary things in advance. Yes, that's right. That old man had always been a scoundrel.
I smiled. He always tried to take more from me, justifying it by saying that I was still young, single, without children or pets. But now, all his grand plans had been shattered in the blink of an eye.
The girl looked at me questioningly, and I shook my head — nothing.
— I have to admit, this place is definitely significant, but not so much that I want to come back here.
— Really? But you spent all your free time here. Wasn't it because you liked it here?
— Of course not. It's just...
Despite the fact that, judging by her tone, she knew the answer and was just teasing me, I couldn't argue with her. Indeed, if you looked inside my head, the walls of this apartment blocked out all other views. But it wasn't because I liked it here, it was because... Hmm? Because of what? I had no choice? I wouldn't say so. No one was stopping me from going for a walk in the park, for example. Then why?
— It doesn't matter.
— I see.
Obviously, we didn't look in the bathroom before moving on. There wasn't a single detail there that could catch the eye. Everything was so boring, so ordinary, that even if you erased the little things from your memory, nothing would change.
We walked through the living room, which flowed smoothly from the kitchen. The only thing that separated one from the other was an old sofa standing in front of the TV, as if marking the territory where one could relax.
It was amazing to watch the lights come on wherever the girl walked. It seemed as if the sparkles flying off her footsteps penetrated the walls, illuminating the rooms with their glow. But in reality, it was just the light bulbs turning on.
And then, while I was admiring the ordinary lighting, it happened. Time made it clear that it does not stand still while I waste it on reflection. My hand, which a moment ago had been hidden in my pocket, hung in the air. But the girl had already stepped over the threshold of my room.
Gritting my teeth and awkwardly averting my gaze, I followed her. Although there were no smells here, visually everything was as I remembered it. The same scribbled sheets of paper, scattered chaotically across the table and bed, as if a hurricane had swept through the room, leaving the disorder of my thoughts in physical form. On the floor were crumpled scraps of ideas that had never found their place. The clothes hanging on the back of the chair resembled my own shadow — crumpled and unkempt. And the bed... it was as if I had been sitting on it just a few minutes ago, sorting through papers.
I could feel every nerve tensing. My joints creaked like a rusty swing as I turned to the girl. I was already preparing to justify myself — but she didn't seem to notice the chaos. With a light movement, she sat down on the bed, sorting through the sheets of paper.
She patted the sheet next to her, as if inviting me to sit down, and without looking up from the papers, asked: "What's it about? Your story."
I cautiously sat down next to her. I took a few sheets from her hands and quickly scanned the lines.
"What's the story about, huh?" I muttered to myself.
To be honest, I couldn't remember all the details. Only fragments floated into my head — pieces of the world, fragments of the road the hero was walking on.
An ordinary guy who found himself in another world and thirsted for adventure. A typical beginning, like in hundreds of other animations and books.
No strength to overcome the fence, no glory for exterminating slugs. Mediocre magic, and even that at the level of a village shaman. And without money and hope, it was impossible to learn anything more.
He thought more and more often: maybe he should have stayed in his parents' house, growing vegetables and not chasing after illusions. But his heart called him beyond the horizon, and he continued — not for glory, but to prove to himself that he could do it. With each passing day, with each drop of sweat and blood, he believed that he would leave something behind.
But the universe has never been particularly attentive to the desires of ordinary people.
His story ended in solitude — in old age, in silence. Without achievements, without feats. Neither a hero, nor a husband, nor a father.
"So what is my story about?"
Scratching my chin, I chuckled. Years of writing — and everything condensed into a minute. No bright events, no clear idea, no message. An ordinary life. The kind that no one talks about. The kind that no one notices.
— Well? — she asked, tilting her head to one side as she took the sheets from my hands.
— Probably... nothing.
— Nothing? Hmph. I don't think so... — I think your character is more alive than you are.
I blinked timidly, shifting my gaze to the girl. My head had been boiling with thoughts just a moment ago, but now my mind was frozen. I couldn't quite put a name to the feeling that had taken hold of me, but I was unable to form coherent thoughts.
— That... that's why?
— His dreams may not have come true... but he lived by them until the very end.
— Huh? And? What's the point?
— That's the point, — the girl nodded. — He may not have achieved anything he wanted, but he stubbornly pursued it. — He lived with hope. And you know... I think he was much happier than someone who lost it.
Really?
Why did she think that? No, no, I don't deny that there was deep meaning in her words, but still. Could the hero of an unknown, unfinished story be considered alive? Neither his aspirations nor his ideals were ever fully conveyed on paper. His chest was immobile, just like mine. He and I left the same mark — none. Then why was blindly following a dream and getting nothing better than resigning oneself and accepting everything as it is? I could only guess.
— Yes, you're right. No one wants to be left with nothing... but still. How can I explain it...
She seemed to be thinking hard about something, holding her index finger to her temple. And I just sat there in complete confusion, looking back at her.
— Don't you think that a person who wants something looks more alive? Even if his plans seem absurd to others, for him, it's the meaning of life. And you have to be strong enough to keep following your dream when nothing works out. Don't you think so?
"Whatever you do and wherever you find yourself, the light will remain with you. Everything bright that seems dead inside you will come back to life if you truly want it to. The heart is simply incapable of giving up hope, because the heart cannot lie. Turning the page in the book of life and looking up, you will suddenly meet the smile of a complete stranger, and the search will begin anew."
It was a quote from some book — I think it was a French author, but to be honest, I didn't remember the name. Just looking into the girl's eyes, I felt overwhelmed with emotion. Was it hope? Who knows. I didn't understand my own feelings well enough to answer that question. However, for some unknown reason, everything inside me seemed to come alive.
— Would you like to walk a little more? — I suggested, raising my hand.
She looked really shocked now. But the crooked smile that followed made it clear that she didn't mind. The girl raised her hand and was about to snap her fingers, but I stopped her before she could.
— No, don't, — I gently touched her hand, — Let's just walk. Follow my, um... thoughts, I guess?
She looked at me intently, tilting her head to one side, then nodded briefly and got up from the bed.
— Shall we go, then?
— Uh-huh, — I replied, getting up after her.
Leaving the apartment and locking the door behind me, I felt as if I were closing an old box filled with some kind of childhood treasures. It's hard to say what place they occupied in my heart now, but I didn't have the resolve to get rid of them. I let out a kind of sigh and turned the key. Locked.
The girl was waiting for me downstairs, and when I turned away from the door, my eyes were immediately captivated. She was standing in a dark blue yukata with a white belt. Yes, I understand that this description doesn't convey anything in general, but... Everything around me blurred, flowing into an endless river of shadows, and in the middle of it was a lantern shining brighter than the sun itself. She waved at me, and, suppressing my stupor, I ran to her.
— How? Wh... You... I... Ah... You look dazzling...
— Is that so? Thank you, — she winked playfully at me, — And you look the same as always.
— Um, yes. I guess so. Wait, I...
— Oh, don't be so dramatic. I was just kidding. Actually, I've already gotten used to your simple outfit.
I raised an eyebrow, looking at her with feigned reproach.
— Is that your subtle way of saying I have no taste? I hasten to point out, young lady, that my style has always been distinguished by its elegance.
— Oh, young lady? — How ignorant, she pretended to be offended, putting her hand to her chest, I don't want to hear anything about fashion from someone who walks around the street in a bathrobe.
— Hey! That's... not true! — I hastened to justify myself, although, in fact, I did go to the supermarket in my bathrobe. But only once. Or... maybe a few times.
After a moment, she burst out laughing, and I laughed with her. Sometimes, in such insignificant verbal exchanges, I forgot that we were from different worlds. I wonder how many people from my world she had met before me? Or was one soul, mine, enough for her? During my time with her, I didn't meet anyone else, so... Could it be that I was the one who had such an impact on her? I know, I know, it was very arrogant of me, but still.
— Actually, this outfit, yukata, I think? It also looks a bit like a bathrobe, — she remarked.
— Ha! So we have a fashionista here.
With a skeptical expression on her face, she clicked her tongue and waved her index finger in front of my nose. "But, but, but, dazzling fashionista, please note."
— Yes, yes, as you say. Let's go.
I must admit, she had an amazing ability to turn any awkward moment into a joke. But as long as she was happy, I seemed ready for anything.
Without hurrying, we moved on. Through the unremarkable streets of the urban area, smoothly transitioning into a pine grove located on a mountain. I don't know what to call this state, but I was delighted to watch my thoughts magically materialize right before my eyes. It would be interesting to know how it worked. Did she see the world through my eyes, or was it something else?
We slowly descended along the well-trodden path, between the thin tree trunks scattered chaotically. The quiet whisper of waves coming from behind the cliff reached my ears. And then, when the tree crowns parted, my eyes were greeted by a view of the sea. The water was illuminated by the night sky, and it seemed that one could gaze at the stars without raising one's head.
Of course, we had been to many places: from lakes to oceans, from rocky peaks to sandy hollows, but this was the place I could truly call special. Not only because of the people I was with, but simply because.
Strange, isn't it? She saw right through me, but she couldn't find this place. Probably, like me, she didn't want to turn the page. It was a part that I had to discover on my own. That's what I think. The awkward smile that appeared on the girl's face made me realize that I wasn't far from the truth.
Where to start... I've always been a little sentimental, even though I hid it behind a facade of indifference. So, probably quite a long time ago, I had a girlfriend. I'm sure for most people this confession sounds normal. But you have to admit, it's a little strange to hear this from someone who seemed detached. The truth is, that's exactly what I became after it all ended.
We met in college and were almost inseparable — from the moment we woke up until we went to sleep. It would not be an exaggeration to say that we grew up together, especially considering that when we met, she was still in high school. We lived in different cities, but the digital age allowed us to compensate for the lack of live communication in some way. Of course, we often saw each other in person — and not only in this place.
But the older she got, the more she distanced herself. Although physically we were still the same distance apart, inside that distance was growing. At some point, technology ceased to be enough.
Perhaps I should have dropped everything and gone to her, but then... neither of us could break away from our familiar lives.
A little later, she moved to another country. Even after we broke up, we continued to communicate — in fact, even more often than in the last year of our relationship. There she met a girl and seems to have finally found happiness. It's hard to say for sure: the closer my death approached, the less often we talked, until we stopped talking altogether.
Perhaps I closed myself off from everyone, including her. Even though we were best friends, something prevented me from opening up. Maybe we just changed.
Since then, I haven't had a relationship that lasted longer than a couple of weeks. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I involuntarily compared each girl to her — and when I didn't find any similarities, I lost interest. And then I lost it altogether. I guess I was a real jerk.
So the last thing I wanted was to see her happy, sincerely congratulate her, and let her go. This time — forever.
It turned out that even such simple and honest desires were not meant to come true.
Quite a jumbled story, isn't it? Of course. There are things that are simply impossible to express in words. If I tried to convey these feelings, I would probably choose music. I would combine completely different compositions, and the result would be the most absurd but, in its own way, lively melody. That's probably how feelings sound — the mouth is silent, but the heart wants to scream.
Returning to the present moment, I knew that thinking about someone else while being with her was not right. Perhaps that was one of the reasons why I didn't want to remember the past. But it seemed that the time had come to accept it. It was time to move on. Each time, I would try a little harder — so that someday, this artificial relationship would become real.
— So, you're not even going to show me what she was like? — the girl asked.
— Huh? I... I don't remember, — I replied, frowning.
— Oh ho ho, has my irresistible image really pushed everything else out of your head?
She was definitely overacting — she made so many movements in a row that I didn't have time to remember them.
— Maybe so, — I whispered.
She froze, holding her hand to her lips, and blinked several times.
— I see, — she added after a short pause, — Very honest of you.
— Okay, where were we? Isn't it time for us to go down to those lights?
Descending the mountain, we passed the hotels and found ourselves in a square full of food carts and stalls. Last time, there were obviously so many people here that you only had to turn away for a moment and you would be lost in the crowd.
But now it was completely empty: no vendors, no passers-by.
The stalls remained the same. The light from the lamps painted the landscape in its soft glow, not blinding, but rather inviting you to come closer. I glanced at the girl, at her calm and carefree profile, and it seemed to me that she was not very interested in her surroundings.
— I'm sorry, maybe this is one of those places that people bring to life, — I scratched the back of my head awkwardly, smiling crookedly.
— Maybe. But I'm not complaining. After all, I'm not alone, am I? — She didn't look at me as she answered — her gaze was fixed on the stalls and what was inside them.
Apparently, she took a liking to one of the stalls — she walked forward lightly, and I followed. Even though this was a place from my memory, I felt like a dog obediently following its owner. Put a collar on me, and the resemblance would be complete.
For some reason, she looked me over curiously from head to toe before pointing to a yakisoba tent.
— What is that? It looks like earthworms. Is it even edible?
— What? Ha ha, no, no...
Before I could answer, she was already standing at the next stall, looking at the tayaki.
— Why does this fish look like bread? How can it swim?
There's no need to go into further detail: she rushed from counter to counter, searching for the strangest snacks she could find and describing them so absurdly, as if she were a child visiting a supermarket for the first time. I couldn't help but smile as I watched her eyes sparkle with childlike naivety. It was ridiculously cute. But even I began to understand what was going on.
— What are you trying to do? You know perfectly well what everything here is made of and how it's prepared.
— I know, — she said with a snort, — but it's fun to guess what's what just by looking at it. Don't you think so? — She puffed out her cheeks as if offended. — Besides, you have terrible taste buds. I'm sure everything will taste like plastic again.
Fair enough. It was hard to argue with her logic. I slapped my palm with my fist and looked around. I may not have been a gourmet, but I remembered some things clearly. Everything sweet was cloying. That taste was hard to confuse with anything else.
— How about that counter with the cloud? Want to try it? — I'm sure it's sweet, I nodded toward the counter with the watame.
She followed my gesture and giggled playfully:
— Oh ho ho, you call watame a cloud? How cute. You're playing along with me, aren't you? Only it sounds too childish coming from you.
— Wh... God, look who's talking! — I protested.
Ignoring my protests, she grabbed the hem of my T-shirt and pulled me toward the counter.
— Come on, come on, come on...
She turned to me and smiled, revealing her pearly white teeth. It was the most blatant and beautiful way to ignore me — and, strangely enough, I didn't mind. In fact, I was even happy. I guess I was just too naive. Wasn't I?
After that, she bought so much food that a comfortable walk was out of the question. With some disgust, I even took a plate of "rainworms" and "land breadfish." If at first I felt like a dog obediently following its owner, now I resembled a man running after a rich lady and carrying all her purchases. What were they called? Hmm, nothing comes to mind. Apparently, my movements are too constrained right now to think clearly.
— Um, listen, maybe we should sit down somewhere? You can't really taste all this on the go.
— Yes, that's what I wanted, — she nodded. — Shall we go to the beach?
— The beach? Why don't we go to the park or the mountain? You can see the sea perfectly well from there, — I suggested.
— Seeing and touching are two different things, you know. And I... I love water.
I had no choice but to agree. However, we were similar in that respect — I loved water too. Every time I was by the sea or the ocean, I spent almost every evening on the shore. I heard that in Okinawa, locals come to the beach when they are bored — to dispel their melancholy and find like-minded people — other bored people. I, on the other hand, went there for the silence. Although, when I think about it, that sounds a little hypocritical — I always sat there with my headphones on, listening to music. So, I was just looking for a place to relax from the hustle and bustle? Yes, that sounds reasonable.
Passing by the stalls on my way to the shore, I noticed that she was wearing a mask. I wonder when she had time to stop by the souvenir shop? It was a popular character from some anime — with bright red hair sticking up like a hedgehog. And his face... how can I put it... slightly slow, maybe? Of course, after hundreds of episodes, they started drawing him much more expressively — more heroic, more confident — but for some reason, she chose the mask where he looks the most ridiculous.
I think most fans will understand who I'm talking about, but I was too exhausted to remember his name or the name of the anime.
Then I noticed a water balloon in her hands. She awkwardly tossed it up, and every time she tried to catch it, it bounced off her palm and fell down with a slap. She was still trying to look serious, but each of her misses only added to her slight confusion. It was a pitiful sight... and at the same time impossibly charming. I wanted to hug her, comfort her, and maybe laugh a little. I wish I could say that this was my chance to show off my skills, but alas, my hands were full — and all that was left was to watch this helpless but delightful spectacle.
A strong gust of wind distracted me from the girl and made me look up. I instinctively covered my eyes — the sea breeze was throwing small grains of sand into my face. My hair was blown to the sides, and I tried to hide behind the mountain of food in my hands.
— Hey, hey, come here, — she called.
When the wind died down a little, I opened my eyes. Nothing special — overall. She had chosen the closest spot to the water, where the waves had not yet reached. But as soon as I stretched out my legs, I could feel the light, cool touch of the sea.
She quickly sat down on the sand and impatiently patted the spot next to her. I walked over slowly, trying not to drop the food, and sat down carefully next to her. She immediately grabbed the okonomiyaki and, narrowing her eyes, said warningly:
— Keep in mind, if it tastes like plastic again, you'll be eating it.
— Huh? Why not just throw it away?
— Huh? — She widened her eyes mockingly and poked me in the cheek with her finger. — How can you throw away something we spent money on?
— We didn't actually spend a penny on it.
— But, but, but! Imagination is a priceless resource, and it was spent on all this, by the way. Although... come to think of it, your imagination may not be that valuable. So maybe it's not such a pity, — she shrugged.
— Hey! What does that mean?
— Hehe.
What kind of "hehe" is that? I looked at her with a slight bitterness and sighed heavily. Perhaps now I was beginning to understand better how a fish thrown ashore feels. No matter how wide you open your mouth, you can't get full. Your lungs remain empty, no matter how much you breathe in and out.
I shuddered when something slimy touched my neck. Turning quickly to the girl, I saw her dissatisfied face. The thing that had just touched me turned out to be... okonomiyaki.
— Eat, — she said sternly. — You have a terrible memory for flavors, — she muttered resentfully.
I blinked a couple of times before taking the okonomiyaki from her. Looking down, I noticed her teeth marks on it and... swallowed my saliva.
— Why are you so tense? It's not that terrible. Rather... it's just nothing.
— Um, no, that's not it, — I mumbled.
— Then... — But as soon as she realized what I meant, she burst out laughing. Her laughter was so infectious and loud that tears welled up in her eyes. Not surprisingly, by this point my face was bright red.
— It's not funny at all, — I muttered again, trying to hide behind the okonomiyaki.
— Oh, you're right, you're right... It's so childishly charming that it's hilarious, — she said through her tears of laughter.
I sat silently, listening to her laughter, and felt my face getting warmer and warmer. Probably, if someone had looked at me from the side, they would have decided that I had a ripe tomato instead of a head.
When she finally calmed down and the wind dried the tears on her cheeks, she stretched forward like a satisfied cat.
— You made me laugh, of course. You know... a kiss is either there or it's not. Imagine how many people ride the train every day and hold onto the handrails. Do you really think I held hands with every one of them?
Hmph. Of course, I knew that. In school, my friends and I constantly drank water from the same bottle and never thought twice about it. For some reason, such thoughts only come when it happens to someone... someone like her. Perhaps this is how people try to touch something unattainable. And when I thought about it for the first time, I was immediately ridiculed. Cruelly.
— Okay, now give me the watame. You promised it would be sweet, remember?
— Um, yes. I think it will be... probably, — I replied uncertainly.
— Well, if it turns out to be another tasteless thing, you'll have a new airy hairstyle, — she drew a line from the wataame to my head, as if hinting that she would simply put it on my head.
— Huh?
— Just kidding, — she said before taking a bite. — Mmmmm, — she said with a satisfied look.
— Ha-ha, — I laughed weakly, without even moving my face.
She was too funny today. It's just a shame that I was the object of her ridicule.
I watched the girl for a few more moments. She looked so relaxed and innocent that I couldn't help but succumb to the atmosphere surrounding her. I shifted my gaze to the sea. The soothing sound of the waves reached my ears, and it seemed as if the stars were drifting toward our feet.
For a moment, I really believed that they were touching the water — the thin reflections on the surface seemed to dance like fireflies that had decided to visit us from the sky.
The wind whispered something barely audible between the shells — as if the sea was playing with its orchestra.
— Hey, hey, look, look, — she called, rising from the sand.
I looked up. She stood in the moonlight, her back to the sea. The waves washed over her bare feet, and with each new tide she sank a little deeper into the sand, as if she herself were becoming part of it.
In her hands glistened the familiar water ball. She smiled — somehow childishly mischievously — and, without saying a word, threw it into the air.
The ball whistled loudly as it soared toward the sky. Reaching an invisible point, it burst — not just into splashes, but into hundreds of tiny sparkling sparks. They scattered across the sky like constellations.
Then flashes of color flared up — red, yellow, turquoise. They were born and disappeared like the breath of dreams. Fire surrounded us on all sides, and even the shadow on her face seemed flooded with light.
I watched, holding my breath. Probably for the first time in my life, I was so mesmerized by fireworks. Not because of the brightness or the noise — but because of how it appeared. Out of nothing. From a simple gesture.
Explosion after explosion reverberated through my body, rolling across my chest with a dull echo. It was as if the world was shaking with us.
— Come on, why are you standing there? — Her voice was soft, but with the same playful note. — Come on, launch yours, — she said and pulled me by the hand.
— Mine? — I asked, still a little confused.
She placed a water balloon in my palm. Its surface trembled, reflecting the dancing lights.
— Launch it. Over there, — she pointed to the sky, still lit up by the traces of the previous explosion.
I squeezed the ball in my palm. It was warm, as if it had absorbed her warmth. For a few seconds, I just stared at it, not knowing if she was joking. Maybe it would just fall on my head, and she would laugh at me again.
And yet I launched it.
It didn't rise as high as hers, but at some point it seemed to catch on an invisible thread in the sky — and froze, trembling. Then it burst — and this time there was no crash. Just a silent burst of light, as if someone had spilled paint on the night sky. It spread in soft ripples, creating an ornament similar to the pattern of frost on glass.
For a while, we both remained silent, watching it.
— Wow, that's impressive, — she commented, without taking her eyes off the fireworks.
I wanted to ask what exactly she meant, but when I looked at her in the light of the flashes, I froze. My lips parted, but not a single word came out.
I guess that's what they call admiration — when everything around you fades away, as if the sky itself takes a step back to highlight only her.
She always seemed magical to me, but at that moment... she was... incredible? Perhaps. Stunning? No, that sounds strange. So beautiful that I seemed to have forgotten how to think.
I felt a wave rising inside me — too big to hold back. Somewhere in the far corners of my mind, I knew: this natural disaster would only destroy everything. I knew... I knew, but...
— I love you!
For some reason, I closed my eyes — as if hoping that if I didn't look, she wouldn't hear. But with the last deafening explosion, my words hung in the air, as if resonating with it.
The world was filled with cold silence.
I opened my eyes.
She was gone.
Time passed, and apparently my brain gradually began to recover from the shock. Or maybe from confusion. I don't know. I wasn't sure. I realized this when I suddenly jumped up. I set off after her. But where?
While I was desperately rushing towards the square, she could have been anywhere.
I continued running along our path leading to the house, and I couldn't say for sure whether I was running after her or running away.
First, the stalls were left behind, then the endless trees. Everything around me looked like a dream: the landscapes changed chaotically, and no matter how fast you ran, it wasn't enough.
I stood in front of the house. The light was still on. Usually, after such a run, I would be barely breathing, but now — nothing. From this point of view, being dead is even better than being alive.
I didn't meet her on the way. If I knew her name, I would probably be shouting it at the top of my lungs. I don't know if it would help or not. Maybe that's why we never got to know each other properly? Did she know everything in advance?
I climbed the stairs and opened the door. The hallway was empty. So was the living room. The kitchen. The bathroom. The bedroom.
She was nowhere to be found.
The journey here took a lot of time and, I think, energy. But to describe everything I ended up with, one short sentence was enough:
Everything collapsed.