I cry. I cry like a baby, feeling no shame, with heaving sobs. I press my cheek against the tatami; I face the ceiling; I wail. I’ve never cried like this before or cried at all in front of another person. I never wanted to. I didn’t want to push my own sadness onto someone else. So I never have. But too many emotions surge through me to contain them any longer.
I’m happy.
My message reached her.
She needed me.
I was able to help her.
I’m happy.
But I’m in more pain than I ever imagined possible.
Her voice echoes in my mind.
Her face appears, wearing one expression after another.
She’s crying, she’s angry, she’s smiling, and smiling, and smiling.
Her touch.
Her smell.
That sweet fragrance.
I remember every aspect of her as if they are still here—as if she is still here.
But she’s not. She’s not here.
She’s not anywhere. My eyes were always on her but can’t find her now.
She liked to say our outlooks didn’t match up.
Of course they didn’t.
We were never looking in the same direction.
We were always looking at each other.
Standing at the edge of the water, looking to the opposite shore.
We never would have known we were looking at each other. We never would have noticed. We occupied separate places, with nothing to connect us.
But then she leapt across the gulf, and we met.
And yet I still thought I was the only one who needed the other—who wanted to become like the other.
I never thought anyone would want to be like me.
But she did.
And now I find a new belief.
I was born to meet her.
All the choices I’ve made in life were for one purpose: to meet her.
I have no doubts.
I know it must be true, because nothing has ever brought me this much joy or this much pain.
I’m alive.
Because of her, for the past four months, I’ve truly lived.
For the first time, I’m alive.
Because we shared a connection.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Words could never express the depths of my gratitude, and she isn’t here to hear them.
No matter how hard I cry, my tears won’t reach her anymore.
No matter how loud I shout, my voice won’t reach her anymore.
I so badly wish I could tell her—
My joy and my pain.
That I had more fun with her than any other time in my life.
That I wanted more time with her.
That I wanted us to be together always.
I know it’s impossible, but I wish I could tell her, even if it served no purpose other than to make myself feel better.
My heart aches.
I won’t be able to tell her anything anymore.
I won’t be able to do anything to help her anymore.
Even after she gave me so much.
I can do nothing.