Work Text:
I still think about talking to you sometimes.
(Sometimes – a bit of an underrated word. Don’t flatter yourself – you don’t appear in my thoughts every single waking moment, but unfortunately for me, I think of you at least a few times a day; when I’m idle, when I’m in the middle of doing something, and the worst of all: when I’m supposed to be enjoying myself. And then I realize you’re not there, not anymore.)
I hate you, I really, really do.
Wow, such vindictive words from a frail, white-haired girl like me… From a girl who has always been kind to her friends and everyone from her. From a girl that would harm herself first before anyone else. It’s what you did to me. You, you, YOU made me into this spiteful being, this being who’s in pain most days, running away from months’ old wounds still unhealed, after all this time.
After all, how could you say those words to me? Never in my life, have I expected those ignorant and hateful words from you. And yet you said it, anyway.
I don’t remember the exact words now (it’s for the best), but I still deeply feel the hurt from those words you shoved at me. Just so, so, utterly thoughtless and careless and braindead words. You said you said them out of anger, out of desperation, but I wonder: is this really how you feel, ever since you met me?
I know; I’m a loser. Someone who can’t even keep up with a university course that’s been mostly online. An unemployed loser who still relies on her grandmother to pay the family house’s rent and bills every month. A loser stuck in a family house that’s lost to time, where all that remains is the deathly stench of decay and loss. And then I lost you too.
I try to see the best in most things. I try to tell myself that most people only do unkind things because they’re suffering themselves. I know you’re suffering too. But, but… why couldn’t you be kind in return and don’t say those words, ever?
Those words… haunt me, stalk me around in my shadows every day. Sometimes I think, I suppose it’s good that you said those words, otherwise I’ll instead be haunted by the good memories we had together, and it’s so sad that we had to end. I didn’t realize what a terrible person you could be. Then I suppose, I’m glad we separated. It’s for the best, right?
How could you just tell me to suck it up? You, the most depressed person I’ve ever met. (Aside from me, of course.) You, the one who told me in the strangest, empty place ever that you want to disappear. You, who didn’t want my help. You, who told me to stay away from the start. And now you’re gone anyway. I should have listened right at the beginning, so that I won’t be left drowning in this pool of sickly pain every damn day.
I thought… that we could relate to each other. At the start, where everything was light and all fun and games, it seemed alright. Our honeymoon period… I’m angry, I’m sad, I’m distraught that I had to experience those good times and then to lose it all forever.
You know… I don’t even talk to Ena or Mizuki anymore, right? Yeah, you leaving me caused Niigo to disband permanently. Even if not for me, couldn’t you have stayed for Niigo, for Ena and Mizuki, at least? You’re so cruel. I can’t even face the two of them anymore… I couldn’t face anyone else anymore, not after what you did to me. To my broken heart, which could no longer trust a single human being around it, for fear of being betrayed and broken even further. Minori, Ichika? Yeah, I don’t talk to them anymore, either. You ruined the friendships I had, too. I have no one, now. I hope you’re happy about what you’ve done.
Is it my fault that you left? Of course it is. I was supposed to save you, I promised, and I failed miserably, didn’t I? All I do is destroy everything that I touch, that I try to save, but it’s all pointless in the end. I just mess everything up. It’s like Mida’s touch but I fuck everything up with everything that I try to meddle in. Then, I’m sorry I must have wounded you in some way too. These few months separated, with nary a message from you… I want to watch you suffer, to compensate for my pain, but I also want you to be better. I hope you’re in a better place, I hope you learn from your mistakes. I hate that you had to hurt me to learn from me, but really… Do better, for other people, for the next someone, you hear me?
Those 9 months… did they meant nothing to you at all? Am I nothing but an experiment to you? Am I nothing but trial and error to you? Was our relationship just a test run? Am I just the saviour for you to escape from, from mommy’s tight little clutch, a little tool for you to catch your breath, but never a person to care and love for? To figure out your feelings, and to find out that you felt nothing towards me, nothing at all? That you can’t love, not in the way that I love cared for you? Huh? What about it, then?
I’m just so… I don’t even know what words to say, for this deeply staked hole that you’ve stabbed in my heart. You were my first ever serious, longest romantic relationship, you know? And now? There’s just nothing left. Nothing but pain and pain again for me to feel, and live through every day.
I want to say that I’m doing better now. I want to prove to you myself that I’m doing better now. I’m a hikikomori, but I go out more often out of the house these days. I even tried a short stint as a food delivery rider. Weak as fuck, sickly Victorian boy Kanade in a few-days-old unshowered tracksuit, on a rickety old bike belonging to her father, what a hilarious sight, right? But that I did. I earned a measly amount of money, nothing to scream about, but it was something, right? Until I quit and became a loser again, of course.
You’re not the only multi-talented girl around. I’m not just only good at composing. I started a online business, selling some digital mini tools and web apps for composing. Selling some sound preset packs and the like. Again, the money’s not much, but it’s increasing. There’s some hope in here, at least. I hope I can lift myself out of this funk, I hope I never have to depend on another person again, I hope that I can be happy all alone by myself. The one time I tried to depend on another human being, and look how that turned out.
The other day I was thinking: If I had never experienced this “romantic” relationship with you, then I could still pour out idealistic, fluffy dreams about how it’s like to fall in love, to be in love. Then I could still compose songs about love. Well, thanks for the reality check, I can never compose about love again. Love is, love is, something that stabs you repeatedly in the back, demands you to love them back, and then some more, I think. If this is what love is, I never want to experience it again.
This is such a stupid thing, but I hate that you look pretty? I hate that you have no confidence in your appearance, in yourself. You have such gorgeous, fluffy, thick, luscious purple hair. Your big ol’ pretty eyes. Your good-looking face and your well-maintained skin. Me? Let’s not talk about me, haha. You look so beautiful, and you don’t even know it. I hate that for you.
I extremely, extremely hate that I dream of you. How dare you torment me in my dreams too, after a long waking day with you in mind. How we would be sharing good times again in the dreams, or how I would reach out to you again and we would reconnect and be friends again, like nothing bad ever happened. I really, really hate that I want to reach out to you again, even though I know that it would be bad for me, for my health in all aspects. Are you still that awful girl who said all those awful things? Are you better now? I don’t know, I don’t know, and it’s better that I don’t.
Why am I writing all of this? Now if someone sees this… letter or message or whatever this dumb ramble of text is, then they know that I still have all these stupid feelings for you. Great. Now I’m known and vulnerable to the world. I shouldn’t be weak. I should be a saviour, all white and shining and bright, the glowing light for people, to bring comfort to. I should be tough, like my mom, fighting through all these strange illnesses in my brain, I should never feel a single ounce of hurt. Not like a human being would. To be strong like that, that’s what I always hoped I would be. Oh well.
I’m tired, now, and I would like to compose away all these feelings, so I’ll leave it here, on such a scuffed ending note. I don’t know if I have more to say to you. I hope not. Well, take care, then. For there’s no good in goodbye.
(Fuck, and let’s not mention all the songs I can’t listen to.)
Cheers,
Yoisaki Kanade