Chapter Text
It’s been a few weeks since the day a once-dear friend became my enemy.
I’ve completely lost track of the last time I spoke to someone while sober. Was it yesterday…? No—today. This morning, I remember. I clearly remember someone complaining about the stench of alcohol on my breath. Bastard… He has no idea what I’ve had to endure because of him. Of course, to them, it means nothing. How could I forget that I’m surrounded by people just like… me. No conscience, no regret, no grief. Honestly, I’ve long suspected they’re already dead. Just look at them: not a hint of emotion, no interests, no feelings. The gloom that’s long since devoured them now flows through me like blood in my torn-up veins. Puppets, dolls, rags. Fuck, even those words aren’t enough to describe them. I could kill every last one just to prove they’re real.
Yura… if only you knew how much I’ve endured in my pathetic life. Do you even realize that I wake up every night because of the torment your loss left me with? Can you even begin to imagine what it cost me to raise my hand against you? In that moment, I lost my honor, a piece of my sanity—I lost myself, realizing what you’d done what I had done. Do you know that? Of course you don’t. Right now, they’re tending to you with delicate care, they’re hospitalizing you. I know that. I’m the reason for that. I never got to say goodbye, so I have to believe we’ll meet again. We will meet again, Yura. I swear it on my faith. You won’t leave. Right now, feverish tremors and dread are holding me back, but that doesn’t mean I’m letting you go.
We’ll meet again, and I’ll tell you everything, right to your face, my friend. You’ll look me in the eyes and listen to every fucking word I say. Every one. And only then, when you finally look at me after the betrayal, I’ll tell you how much I miss you. There’s no place for you and me on the same earth, so you’ll take the whole truth with you to Hell. I’ll kill you, immortalizing my grief. Only then will you be free of me.
I wonder what you’ll be thinking about before you die.
Maybe… you miss me too, my friend?
The trembling hand of a would-be poet smears the ink across the page, dissolving the word “friend” in a stain of death.