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It’s weird how the brain struggles to comprehend and accept when someone is no longer around.
Spending 20+ years of your life with the same person, always looking forward to more.
Then suddenly.
Without warning, there's nothing to see anymore.
All that you've built and held dear comes crumbling down.
Pieces of the future you'll never have breaking off into dust as you try to piece them back together.
Ignoring the wedding you envisioned and the path you planned to take, life throws you off course.
A different kind of ceremony: the duty of planning and attending a funeral.
No one asks if you're ready to take up the duty.
Still, it's something you can't run away from.
The deceased is your beloved, and through life and death you are to be there for each other.
That is your vow, your promise, one that will stand as long as either of you breathes or takes your final breath.
No matter how painful it gets.
You will be there for him now that he needs you for the last time.
To give him a worthy send-off and to show him care, even if in a way he won't be there to see it.
The hassle of it all leads you to pack, travel to Tokyo, and, upon arrival, be greeted by a sea of black clothing and muffled cries.
Frost eating away at your fingertips as you stand in the snow-filled cemetery, 60 minutes feeling like a never-ending trial to hell.
It's not supposed to. It's not a joyful occasion by any means, but still.
This is the closing ceremony to his life. As it ends, you owe it to him to get yourself together, keep a clear head, and do this right.
It's only right for him and for everyone attending.
Going through the motions, accepting condolences. One after another. You stay as level as you can.
You aren't sure for how long you'll be able to carry this out.
It's only a matter of time before your less-than-great facade fails you.
The tears start like a flood you have no way of containing; droplets stick to your cheeks,
and as they freeze over, new ones warm your eyes.
You sit down, slouched, unmoving.
Forcefully wiping away at the irritated skin.
Your vision is a blur.
The sleeve of your right arm's jacket is now permanently damp.
The shoes don't fit quite right, and the sun refuses to show.
Everything is backwards.
The discomfort keeping you grounded has now evolved into a headache.
Almost over; make it just a bit further.
You tune out the speeches of the attendees; even if they interested you, the ringing in your ears makes it impossible to hear.
Keeping your gaze fixed on the coffin, you admire the love of your life, soon to be buried in the ground.
How his head rests on the pillow.
The stitches on the rigidly posed hands and the blue tie they're clasped over.
How the makeup the coroner applied slowly washes away as snow melts on the pale skin.
Watching it gather on the eyelashes and the suit.
Without realizing it, you find yourself lingering on those closed eyes of his for a few seconds too long.
Imagining what was, the most ethereal green you'll never see again.
Minutes before the casket is lowered.
You regain your composure and get up, carefully reaching down.
Only the sensation of his cold, pale cheeks greets you.
A kiss, the final gift you'll ever give.
For just a few seconds, miraculously, it's all okay.
The ringing stops, people go quiet, and the air seems lighter.
This feeling, the ever-present piece he carried, must be his farewell gift to you.
It left as quickly as it arrived.
Before you had a chance to appreciate it, to let the calm settle. The air is dense again.
“Does the partner of the deceased have any last words he'd like to share?”
It feels like an eternity before the tightening in your throat lets up enough to allow you to speak.
Expectedly, it's no louder than a whisper.
“I'll see you later, Suguru. ”.
The casket finally closes.
The other guests aren't doing much better, and there's only so much one can say through the sobs and labored breaths.
It ends as painfully as it began, with distant goodbyes, farewell wishes, and empty promises of, "We'll call some other time."
-
It’s cruel how quickly everyone expects you to accept those hours as the start of your new reality;
an unchanging future taken from your worst nightmares is now all there is.
Coming to terms with it all appears to be impossible, but it's something you have to do.
Try to do.
You'll quickly find out that's how the pain doubles: when you refuse to accept the situation you're in despite all of your senses begging you to.
Grief is like locking yourself in a cell: during the stay you always hold the key but can't ever get to the door.
You can only leave when you accept where you are and decide to move forward.
Acceptance makes you avoid painful surprises that grief serves you and the brain doesn't prepare you for.
For instance, when you return to the home the two of you shared and get surprised over and over again that he's not there.
Every week, and every day from then on, the quiet grasps at you, suffocating.
You continue to wait.
As long as you're alive, the pain will bring him back to you once again.
After all, feeling hurt is better than feeling nothing; if that's all his presence is now, you'll be sure to keep it close as
a last attempt at convincing yourself he never left.
Months pass with no progress.
That stubborn head still convinces you not to give up the wait. It's worth it, you tell yourself.
Just endure a little longer.
So you stay in your cell, you hold the key, and you wait for someone to free you.
But no one ever does show up, and the hands of time make that painful grip on all your senses tighter every passing day.
-
Nothing in the apartment feels welcoming without you in it.
Same as my brain, the surroundings continue to mock me as well.
A world beyond this door that was once brimming with life now greets me with only a deafening silence.
Our cramped one-bedroom with a sea view—this was the place I considered home because it was the only corner of the world I shared with you.
That's all in the past; its only goal now is to remind me of how alone I've become.
Eyes searching through every area I could think to turn to; if not inside, then surely somewhere else.
I continue to search. The rooms filled only with memories of what was.
All in hopes of my luck turning around and finally finding where you might be hiding.
Traces of what you left behind everywhere I look, leading me to dead ends I know like the back of my palm.
Sometimes I'll stumble upon something new, but never you.
If I open the kitchen window, I'm sure you'll be there to call out to me from the backyard.
Just behind the building, where the poorly set-up volleyball net you cherished so much still stands.
I'll hear you and rush down the stairs, eager to help you catch a few serves before the night catches up to us.
That's how it's supposed to be; I can't play by myself, you know?
Yet you still aren't here, waiting on the other side of the net to show me how much you've improved from the last time.
It's cold out now, so it's better we stay inside either way; maybe you thought the same.
You could be in the kitchen now, rummaging through the freezer late at night because no amount of warnings
could deter you from keeping ice cream stocked all year long.
I'm not a big fan of it myself, but I've kept the last box and bought some more, just in case.
Every new day offers new chances, a motivation to keep going with my search.
For instance, I could get lucky and catch a glimpse of you in the living room.
Watching as you lean on the doorframe, trying to make sense of our ever-confusing bookshelf.
As tall as the wall, with books scattered in no discernible order. Same as the day we first unpacked them from the moving boxes.
An assortment of old college textbooks, weekly jump volumes, cookbooks still in their wrappers, and English literature both of us could barely read.
We promised we'd get around to putting it in order one day. A day that’ll never come, as it stands now only to collect dust on the yellowed pages.
We did a lot in the limited time we didn't know we had.
Yet I'm always reminded none of it was enough.
Every morning I open my eyes and realize I'm missing you more than the previous one.
The hollow feeling in my chest growing deeper, the air suddenly feeling as cold as it did that day.
I lay down. I overthink.
Mourning you, an eternity of places and events. From the ones I didn't think we’d miss to the ones I never knew I wanted us to attend.
Eventually going over the better days to try calming down.
Time may have taken you, but the comfort you brought is as important to me as ever.
I wait for you to bring its warmth closer once more. In your own unique, often twisted way.
What I'd give to live through that old routine again.
To come back home from work and lie down next to you.
Back on the cheap bed that's barely long enough for my legs to not hang off the edge.
“Maybe if we squish your hair, you'll lose some height and fit on it finally."
Wrong size or not, I like it now as I liked it when you picked it out all those years ago.
Who cares if I don't fit on it as I should? You did, and that’s all that mattered anyways.
You just had to keep me on edge at all times.
Even then, in what was supposed to be a tranquil moment. From shushing the keys when I unlocked the door to being careful not to rustle my bag.
Staying vigilant so as to not accidentally wake you, blissfully unaware you're awake.
You lie in wait for me to drop my guard. Finding the right moment and trying with varying success to scare me.
Sometimes I figured it out quickly; other times I wasn't so lucky.
That childish need to be a dumbass because you know we'd both laugh at it didn't leave you until the end, huh? I'm glad.
-
It's embarrassing, but I'll admit it regardless. When it gets really bad, when it hurts more than it usually does.
I—I'll try calling your cell. Shifting in place, anxiously waiting for the signal to pick up.
To hear that crackle when you finally answer and talk the troubles away.
Even when you were busy or had a shit day, and me calling was the last thing you needed, you’d still answer.
Every time. Thank you for tolerating how pushy I can be.
When the missed calls pile up, do as you did so many times. Call me back and ask,
"Does the lonely princess of our castle miss me so much he can’t wait until I'm done with work to call? “.
You knew how annoyed it got me and how quickly it would make me hang up.
If I had the chance, I'd annoy you a thousand times worse. I’d demand my spoiled prince back.
I've set the subscription to renew as long as I'm alive to pay for it.
I'll call you, and you have plenty of time to call back.
While I have the time, let me catch you up with everything.
Since then, for every achievement that I've earned, I wished I could have told you about it right away. Face to face.
To take you out so we can celebrate those small victories together.
As they say, "A shared joy is a double joy."
Today I happened to land a deal with a really high-profile sponsor, and guess what came with it?
A first-class plane ticket for the next game we're organizing.
The battery keeps giving me warnings; I’ll hang up now. Thanks for listening.
Goodnight.
–
One more time, then another, back again—I go outdoors and indoors.
I turn the corner and walk around the building, the stairs, the elevator, and then the apartment
and you still aren't there.
It's all the fault of this damn place, so cramped I can feel its walls smothering me.
Will it ever offer me a chance at rest? Can it let me look away instead of calling me?
Convincing me to look for something seemingly imaginary. That which will finally end this.
Whatever it may be, I'm scared I'll never find it.
I'll give it another chance regardless; you know I refuse to give up when it comes to you.
Your drawer in the bedroom still stands open; I haven't had the heart to close it.
God only knows if I ever will.
There are a lot of things I can't get myself to do without you around.
You were such a hard worker; I know you'd be disappointed in me for this kind of behavior.
I promise it's not laziness; I keep everything else clean… just. Please understand.
Some things, my arms won't let me move.
Some places, my body won't let me get near.
Some fears my brain won’t let me let go of.
So I'll disregard your preferences this one time if you don't mind.
Do you remember? I used to be even more disobedient. Taking what I shouldn't.
You were always strict about me not touching your things. Strict but never too serious.
That and the laughs we shared made me less worried about how mad it truly made you.
If it did.
You enjoyed those little games as much as I did. The push and pull.
How amusing it was watching you stress over me wearing your jacket or the luxury watch you forgot existed
that I'd pair with sweatpants because you insisted it only be worn with a suit.
The funniest part of it all was definitely the anticipation.
Seeing how long until the ever-perceptive Suguru notices something isn't quite right.
"Tetsuro, I swear I’ll turn the car around if you take that again," and of course you never did.
“Whatever, the watch fits you better; just keep it."
-
Let's see that drawer again.
The white socks are on the left, the black ones on the right
If I dig beneath them, I'll find a treasure buried beneath.
An album, one you never wanted me to know you kept. It's not a sin to be sentimental, you know?
Photos of the two of us from childhood to high school all the way to early adulthood.
The best memories we made. Carefully preserved in thin plastic sheets.
Some are more embarrassing than the others, but all are equally precious.
Our cherished moments captured in photographs, never to be seen again.
I'll let nostalgia lead me and selfishly reminisce.
The stories of us you kept frozen in time to look back on forever.
The Nekoma & Nohebi team photo. October, taken after the first match you won against me in high school.
You were so happy I forgot I started off those three years with a loss. Well, technically, but not quite—
Back then, it was the first time I realized I didn't care about the scoreboard that much.
The numbers clearly showed 24 - 21, yet all I could feel was an overwhelming sense of joy.
It was terrifying, my first crush. Slowly developing while I stand on the side, throwing glances.
Watching you revel in the victory, hugging your teammates and smiling wide.
Thinking about what excuse I should give to join in.
I never could be rational when it came to you. So I stopped thinking.
I picked you up and ran to where the rest of our teammates were waiting.
One click of a shutter.
My first of many attempts at winning you over was recorded in history.
Funny how the most important event of my life started with such a mundane action.
A piggyback ride, out of all things. Anything to hold you close worked back then, huh.
Then, the next one. Our 4th anniversary of dating at university.
I decided to be a gentleman and bring you flowers. Sure it was sappy, but girl or not, I wanted you to have some!
It was the best idea of what I thought I was supposed to do in my first relationship.
Honestly? Even now that I know you better, I'd still do the same.
Anyways. Life decided to reward my effort by playing a joke.
Keeping the flowers fresh by watering them on the way.
The rain started pouring out of nowhere, and I had no umbrella.
By the time I arrived, you couldn't tell if I or the roses got more soaked. I must have looked a fool.
I remember being so sad I failed, messing up the only nice thing I prepared for you.
Is that why you reacted the way you did? Always so full of surprises.
You looked happier than I’d ever seen you.
At first I was annoyed. You wouldn’t, couldn't. Stop laughing at my very apparent misery.
After a bit I couldn't help but laugh along with you; self-deprecating as I get sometimes, it seemed appropriate.
I was convinced my failure was amusing to you, that you were mocking me.
We don't see ourselves for what we are, so I, flushed red and out of breath from running and cynically returning your laughter,
couldn't do anything but try to hide behind the bouquet.
Then you surprised me once again.
It hurt more than I'd like to admit. That moment I realized how badly I misunderstood.
So many years together, and I didn't learn my partner is always holding something more beneath that mask of mockery so many took for your real face.
You didn't see a failure.
You saw me, who ran through the storm to meet you on time.
Barely squeezing through the jammed city traffic.
I was in my best attempt at formal wear because I had a promise to keep.
“The moment I get my salary bonus, I'm taking you out. Dinner in the nicest restaurant you can think of.”
Most importantly, you saw someone scared of failing you.
Someone who always tries his best because he knows you deserve no less.
That's how you are. I could mess up ninety-nine dates, and you’d call me on the hundredth.
It was never spoken out loud, but I'm sure you could tell; for you, no matter what it is, I'll try again and again until I succeed.
I'd catch a cold a hundred times more to relive that moment with you.
What I thought and the million other things that were going through my head.
You rarely got to hear any of it. I don't think I need to tell you.
It always annoyed me how well you knew what I was thinking without me ever mentioning it.
I admitted defeat and sat down. Whatever, the clothes can be dry cleaned anyways.
It must have been quite a sight for you. Towering above me, trying to decipher why heading to our reservation wasn't my first priority.
You gave up on thinking it over pretty quickly. Too quickly.
It didn't matter to you anymore. The unpredictable weather, the restaurant, or the rain.
I'm glad you changed your mind. The anniversary you set off is still my fondest one.
Watching you crouch down startled me. I was as puzzled as you were moments before.
I couldn't understand why; that dirty floor wasn't fitting of you.
So posh, sometimes I'd say we should build you a throne because nothing else seemed appropriate.
Daisho Suguru, the wealthy upcoming athlete, the son of a famous politician, and a bastard who is completely full of himself.
Too much to handle.
That's who you were to most of the world. But not with me.
I was one of the few exceptions.
I got to see a different Suguru and know the real one.
Easily annoyed, prone to playing arguments, and most often a completely shy dork.
With a habit of hiding his face when he thought he spoke too much or messed up a social situation.
Threateningly whispering, “...you didn't see that,” after flinching from excitement every time the volleyball team you were rooting for scored.
Ditching the luxuries because you would rather be next to me. Curled up in my old clothes because
you were too proud to ask me to stay close and had to find another way. Secretly squeezing in on the other side of
that bed that creaks if you even get near it when you were sure I wouldn't notice you did.
Always finding the time to tease me, knowing I liked nothing more than to do so back.
Someone that didn't care if the moment wasn't romantic enough.
That I had no means to dry off, and I smelled like a dog left in the weather.
You loved me enough to want a taste of the rain on my lips and my wet hands tangled in your hair.
I offered no resistance, wrapping around as you led me down.
Leaning in further and further until you had me pinned on the floor of the empty station.
In a moment every mistake I made that evening felt so small. Forgotten in the face of a bigger victory.
Those small breaths and the glint of your fangs in between the drawn-out kisses.
Tracing the back of your neck and ruining that perfect hair of yours.
Shifting in place, forcing you to grab onto my collar because with every new touch, I wanted to drag you deeper into myself.
Inconvenienced or not, I knew you wouldn't be able to resist if I let you.
The serene feeling of watching snow fall on the train tracks. Minutes before the sun sets and the night catches up to us.
We missed the reservation, not that either of us minded it.
“Are you down to order takeout and watch Yu-Gi-Oh reruns on cable?“
“Deal. I'm sleeping over also.”
Mock narrator voice: “There was only one bed; God knows what it could lead to.”
On any other day, living a 10-minute walk away from the bus station in a snowstorm would have been my worst nightmare.
That was the first time I appreciated it, the chaos it brought.
Running home behind you as I struggle to balance the umbrella you handed me.
Counting the seconds before the wind successfully rips it up. Watch the rain drip from your hands as you clutch
the bouquet you swore looked too ridiculous to keep just moments before.
I remember going back to your dorm weeks later and seeing those same roses withered in a vase on your living room table.
You could never truly hide how sentimental you were at heart.
I’ll never know what other stories might be hiding in there.
It will stay on the bottom of the drawer for a while longer.
Whatever I could find in there, be it your deepest secrets or the complete opposite.
None of it is mine to see, and it never will be.
I won't intrude on what's left of your life just because it's over.
That's about the least you deserve and the most I can give you now.
Your threats, the scolding, and the yelling are most often completely unserious.
I didn't mind any of it; I just was never a fan either.
I want you to know I've changed. I don't mind anymore.
I'd turn this apartment upside down and throw everything in sight as far as I could, just to hear your voice.
To watch you be angry with me or give any reaction at all.
Scream at me as loud as you can. Punch me if you want. For the first time in my life, be angry at me and mean it.
I'll be here to listen. I deserve it.
I'm sure there were a million times you didn't react strongly enough when you could have.
But you won't do it. You won’t charge in shouting when I least expect it.
So it'll stay as you left it.
As you wanted it.
–
Schools-
That reminds me. This year it's the 20th year of graduation for both of us.
I have yet to receive any kind of meeting invite, though.
No worries; whoever is planning it is probably just busy with other things.
Your classmates are no better. It must be a year full of responsibilities for everyone.
You'd want to meet them all again, I’m sure. It's been so long since then that all of us could use it.
It happens naturally; life splits everyone into different paths, and if you're not careful, those paths may never connect again.
I want to avoid that, and I have no doubt you’d agree with me as well.
That team meant so much to you.
Years passing is never going to erase the memories they left.
The fond ones you recounted to me over the years and the ones you'd never spoken of.
Back then, you tried your best to be on the receiving side of every insult they received.
You can handle all of it for them.
As a captain. As a teammate. As a school friend.
Any time. Without a single crack in the surface of that perfectly crafted mask.
You’re too sly to care. Consistently unbothered no matter what.
Unfortunately every so often you'd forget to tighten the strings holding it all together and…
A mess.
Many, many messes you never learned to recover from with that usual nonchalance.
One after another, chipping away at you little by little.
“I didn't do enough. “It wasn't an excuse or explanation; it was a reason for punishment.
You were well aware no person can affect everything.
Something will always be off. When you step on the court, you accept you're a participant in a game that is partly built on consequences and coincidences.
Something you could never fully make peace with.
What was going to drive you forward if you couldn't hold yourself accountable?
If one day you gave yourself the chance to say, "I wasn't at fault; it just happened, and I accept that.”
But you couldn't. You never grew out of the habit. Those small misses meant you didn't give 100% of yourself but only 99%, and you'd never allow that. So you yelled at me, you aimed at my teammates, and you spent even longer than that beating yourself up. A poor cover-up.
Only the exceptionally dumb and shallow would have thought you really meant those things.
You were in the right to cry then.
Then, and a thousand other times, you thought you messed up more than you did.
I know you’d never let yourself do it, especially where you knew people could see.
I hope you didn't worry about it before you left.
If I could go back, I'd tell you over and over again: no one thought you were as mean as they did years ago.
We're not kids anymore. You saw me grow up, and I saw you, but you never saw yourself.
For all the things you've achieved, the coaches and the fans you've made proud. The teammates you helped go forward.
You've gotten so serious in all that worrying about improvement and not dragging others down; all you could see were the places you failed.
I wish I told you it's okay to take a rest more often.
I know you'd write me off, but I still should have tried. Persistence is key, right?
You overworked yourself enough for life to grant you a break, so rest up until we meet again.
-
This place—it's such a hassle sometimes.
If I don't watch my steps, I'll trip over something on the floor.
It's so fucking annoying; sometimes I wish it would all disappear and I would go away with it.
All of this can sink into the ground for all I care and bury me where no one can dig me out.
If you were here, I swear I would move out immediately. It's like every day it looks worse than it usually did.
It's my responsibility, one that I've been ignoring. I haven't cleaned around since then; I can't find it in me to do so.
I'm preserving the mess as it had been that day.
It's not hard work, just a bit mentally taxing sometimes.
Tiptoeing around the shoes, bags, knee pads, and papers.
Volleyball strategies written so neatly in contrast to how they now stand.
Sprawled under every crevice of the room.
Reminds me of our visits to each other in university.
When mess was an afterthought between the classes and the drinks.
Back then anything that really mattered, you carried with you anyway.
That’s why I was so clingy. You know? What if you lost me somewhere on the way?
Even now I always keep you close; I won’t forget you, I promise.
-
You forgot your schedules the last time you left.
Most of the appointments have passed, but still.
I put them on the fridge with the cat magnets you picked out during that trip to Aoshima.
Thank me later; now you won't have trouble finding them.
I've already explained myself, but still, don't be surprised by it when you come back.
You were a neat person by nature; no matter how much we moved, all of your belongings had a place and an order.
I remember that about you so clearly.
The one time you left a mess like this, it ended up frozen in time.
Ill-timed, I guess.
It's bad to hold grudges, but I can't get myself to forgive you for this.
You know how terrible I am at giving advice, yet you still listened to me.
If it were up to you, you'd probably have cleaned it up before you left or after you came back.
Like you were supposed to.
After you pass the road, you turn around and go home, dumbass.
Now, for the last time, I ask you to promise me this.
Listen closely: When I tell you to go die, you DON'T oblige.
You tell me to die back, and we laugh about it.
Yet instead you—
…
…
…
5 things I can see, 4 things I can touch, 3 things I can hear, 2 things I can smell, 1 thing I can taste
…
5 things I can see: the navy blue coat hanging by the door, zolpidem and lexapro on the counter next to the kettle,
the car keys with no car to drive, and a wooden omamori attached to them.
4 things I can touch: the satin ring box in my pocket, the metal ashtray on the kitchen table, the spot on the wall
where you chipped the paint, and the top of my head.
3 things I can hear: raindrops hitting the glass window, the tenant in the apartment below talking on the phone,
and my socks shuffling against the ground as I pace around.
2 things I can smell: cigarette ash on my shirt and a faint aroma from today's leftovers in the unwashed dishes.
…
It's my fault. I mean no—yes. I don't know.
It doesn’t have to be direct, right? I may not have done that to you with my own hands, but every second up until then counts.
Seconds that I influenced. One of the many reasons you aren't here today.
Because I discouraged you: "Go to the interview; don't worry about it," and "We'll clean when you're back."
If you'd stayed home for a bit longer, maybe, just maybe. None of it would have happened. You’d have escaped fate and been spared.
Instead, I sent you away.
I should have known something was going to go backwards. For the first time in a long time, you listened to me without question.
What a rush it was, your big break.
A final gift formed through years of all your efforts.
Every torn muscle, hours of overwork, and bruised wrist—it all paid off.
Is that why you had no time to think about anything else?
The meeting to negotiate your transfer to a foreign first division team.
Fancy executives in a room filled with awards, you, and the new chance they offer you.
So one day you too could proudly bring a trophy into that room.
All that you'd worked for had boiled down to this one day.
I never doubted they would sign you, not for a second. It always felt only like a matter of time.
Every day I see the most elite of players from all across the world. In recent years I had no doubt in my heart
you stood on equal ground with them.
My objective judgment. As a valued employee of the JVA, an ex-volleyball player, and your partner.
I know every team aiming for the top would be happy to have you, and that interview was never anything more than a formality.
I couldn't stop thinking about all the possibilities. Were you imagining them too? No way. You were always so grounded.
You should have let yourself dream a bit more. “Empty promises and imagination mean nothing; I have a resume to fill. ”.
It's not wrong to imagine better things. Visualize them for yourself clearly enough, and one day that picture may become your reality.
I had a daydream I kept close to my heart back in those days.
On our next trip I'd book us first-class tickets. We'd sip on expensive wine while watching your favorite movie.
Traveling to see you play in those bigger-than-life stadiums. I would be in the first row, of course.
Surrounded by thousands of spots full to the brim of excited fans.
Admiring the disbelief of the commentators, you land one service ace after another, and the cheering gets louder with each one.
Or even better, those impossible saves—TV anchors have to slow down out of amazement.
I can never be sure how it would go down. Any guess is far off with how impressively unpredictable you've become.
That's why everyone here at home loves your matches so much; we know you always have a surprise left for us.
It's funny how unfazed you tried to act through it all.
Staying humble, questioning, "What if I'm not fit for this?"
“You're more than ready."
Daydreams aside, I noticed how you hid a smile behind every word, barely tying your shoes
with trembling hands and wearing your jacket upside down.
When you didn't get offended, I slouched to kiss you before you left or called me a skyscraper;
when I asked you back for one more and you almost slipped trying to get from me to the door as
fast as you could; and finally, when you ran back to the apartment two times to fetch just one more thing,
the adrenaline made you ignore the first time around. But you never forgot to tell me goodbye amidst it all.
As much as I could never believe I was deserving of it, the facts never changed.
At the end of the day, you really did love me just as much as I loved you.
You wanted to go back home and tell me the good news, another achievement to make everyone around you proud.
I'd love you if you got 20 gold medals at the Olympics or never won a single game.
I just wanted to see how happy you'd be when all you'd ever wanted was finally given to you.
I'd listen to you brag about it as long as you'd like.
Your journey to fame and acclaim would finally start, and I could hug you and kiss you and spoil you again
and again and again to congratulate you. As annoyed as you’d be, I know you'd still pull me in for more.
If only I didn't wait to tell you how I felt.
I could have said more about how proud I was and how much farther I thought you'd go after this was
resolved to once more give you the reassurance you needed instead of getting lost in daydreams.
None of it matters in the present.
What I want to say, or how many times I repeat myself to the air, the wall, and the phone with no one on the other side.
These insignificant words you won't respond to, but I keep saying them anyway.
I talked so fucking much; you must have been sick of me.
That's what led me to start hesitating, to show you love only when I thought it was appropriate.
So as not to intrude or disturb. I hesitated again and again; I said less, and I did less. I kept my distance.
I'm sorry I didn't give you the love you deserved; please know I wanted to.
I started to miss you long before I truly lost you.
In a twisted way, that's what makes life beautiful.
Reminiscing and starting to appreciate the memories I made.
All of them—fleeting or long-lasting, happy or sad—are important all the same.
Regretting all the ones we failed to make, in turn, makes the nostalgia all the sweeter.
It hurts. I'll never live through them again, so I hold them close to my heart.
Pieces of you patching the parts of myself I'm slowly losing.
Fragments of joy no one in this life can take from me.
I can't be whole like I used to; at least I have you to help me not fall apart completely.
–
I miss our routine.
Annoying you as you prepare dinner, hurrying with anticipation to finish cooking while you wait for the match on the sports channel to start.
I scold you for forgetting to turn off the light in the pantry for the nth time, and you flip me off, as you do.
The food, as delicious as it is, would never interest you. I sit down and for the next hour patiently listen to you.
Explaining what strategy you think the team is going to use and how it's going to affect the result.
Examining everything with care, nothing was an afterthought in your commentary.
Where each of the players looked, how they moved, and what they might be saying during point break.
If I hadn't known better, I would have thought you knew and met all of them at one point or another.
That smart head of yours could be quite a problem.
No matter how well I hid the surprise presents I got for you, it was never more than 5 minutes till the course started.
You'd notice I'm hiding something; guess what that is, and tell me where it is.
In that order, EVERY TIME.
I couldn't tell if I was impressed or annoyed. How is it you win at rock-paper-scissors for dish duty every time?
And adding insult to injury, you'd still do the chores. “It's not fair to use your poor skills against you, kitty cat! ”.
In those moments, I swear if I unfocused my eyes, the cunning captain of Nohebi, who couldn't help but fool around
and tease every time we'd cross paths, would be standing in front of me once again.
Neither of us became as serious as everyone expects adults to do.
You'll never be there to help me pack for another long trip where I'll sacrifice half of my pay on international phone calls just to hear your voice.
No one expects to lose their whole world out of the blue.
If I had known somehow, I promise I would have gone back and answered every phone call I ever missed and every
conversation I cut short and every outing I cancelled because of work because I'm stupid and thought my job and
my responsibilities, something so fleeting and irrelevant, were more important to me than you were.
I'm sorry I could never give us those moments back.
I know so well how much you hated others and me especially knowing you had a softer side to you, yet you got over
your pride and asked me to be with you.
And I couldn't make time. Right now I'd do anything. I could have done the
same back then if only I hadn't been so selfish.
Why do I always say the wrong things to you?
I'm mad you kept hiding how you felt for so many years, but I was no better, was I?
Now it's finally caught up to me. Maybe none of this would have happened in the first place if I'd changed
for you, if I'd been kinder or chosen different words or anything.
I don't know.
I don't know what I was supposed to do for you to stay.
Could I have done anything?
No matter how impossible it was, I was ready to do anything at a moment's notice for you.
I wonder if you left without knowing that.
There are probably so many things you would have told me and showed me if I were better back then.
I’ll stay on the edge of the bed for a bit.
Just me and the mess and the view of the mountain I’m forced to face head-on every day from every window in the apartment.
-
Fuck that mountain, and the car, and the sky, and the road, and everything in life that
ended yours and took you away from me. And fuck me
Me
My idiotic, selfish personality for letting you drive; and,
and letting you die.
I led you to this.
I fell in love with you, I asked you out, I spent years with you, and worst of all,
I asked you to move here with me.
I wasn't there; that's the worst of it.
No, no. The worst is that you're gone.
Me staying comfortably at home while your brain shut down and organs collapsed from impact
has to be equally appalling, right?
If I'd known, I would have run up the mountain right that instant.
I don't know if it would have saved you, but at least I could live knowing I tried to.
But life is cruel; that third sense people talk about didn't work when I needed it to.
Can I honestly say that I love you when I let that happen to you?
I left you alone when it mattered the most.
If I had the chance to go back, I'd change nothing but a single thing.
I'd join you in the passenger seat; since it was your fate to go that night, I'd join and go with you. I'd leave anywhere with you,
even this world without a second thought.
Maybe then the guilt wouldn't eat me alive every second of the day.
The whole world was ahead of you, and now my whole world is gone with you.
I don't know why I'm trying to stay in it when I'm barely managing anyway.
I haven't been drinking or eating or doing much outside of showing up to work; it will take a while for all of it to catch up with me,
so I don't really care right now.
It's not your fault.
I'm not sad or stressed because of you; it's just me, so please don't mind.
I'm sorry for disappointing you.
This is my last-ditch effort at also not failing at life without you like I failed to keep one with you.
–
Being alive: the biological state of having a pulse, breathing, and maintaining bodily function.
In a way I’m no better than a coma patient; it's embarrassing what I've let myself become
If it weren't for you, I'd probably sink even lower. Staying alive and safekeeping the apartment are those insignificant
highlights of what my day-to-day has become; that's the least I can do for you as I am now.
Admittedly I've given up on living; whatever I can experience won't get to me.
After a certain point in time it all turned into a blur.
Yesterday, two weeks ago, a year ago—it's all the same. I can’t remember much of anything and haven't bothered to try.
Even with it all, I feel fear. I'm scared, not for myself but for the larger picture.
If I take my life, I'll indirectly kill you a second time
Taking the memories of you with me.
As that famous writer said, "Every man has two deaths: when he is buried in the ground and the last time someone says his name."
It's not likely; I know many people who held meaningful connections with you.
I don't want to risk it regardless; people are unpredictable, and I can't guarantee anything for them.
They don't owe it to anyone either way.
I don't want to disappoint you ever again.
So I'll keep my promise: in life and death, sickness and health, to always love and think about the other.
–
I think what haunts me the most is that you planned to stay around for far longer.
Death in any way, shape, or form wasn't a thought that occurred to you.
Only what you are doing now and what you can do better going forward.
Forward into an unknown future full of new chances.
I wanted to be there and watch you on the court in the happiest moments of your life.
No matter where or when. If necessary, I swear I'd travel all the way to Europe on foot at 2am to see you. The winning and the losing games.
I'd be there to cheer you on during every one.
It’s just an educated guess, but I don't think you'd lose them.
If the chance to try was unfairly ripped away, you’d confirm what I already know.
As it stands now, I'll never be fully sure.
It's cruel. The spot on the team was guaranteed to be yours.
That one and many others—that's where you were supposed to head next.
The place a new chapter in your career was supposed to be starting with.
But in the book of life, no one follows the rules. Pages get ripped, and characters get erased.
Everything you know can be rewritten, and everything you dreamed of can disappear in a second.
A painful reminder of how reality is. Life doesn't ask.
It finds what we cherish the most and takes it without question.
Without a shred of concern for everybody who held that person dear.
Your parents, your sister, and everyone who loves you wanted to see you again.
All of us wanted to see you go further
As a sportsman, as a spouse, and as a father.
Maybe one day we'd finally adopt.
I can be so mean in what I say, but I truly believed you'd be a good parent.
How could I doubt when you kept showing me how caring you could be?
Calmly answering all and any questions the new interns might have during practice.
Quick to notice when I'm feeling down and asking me how I’m doing more times than necessary.
Trying to make me feel better in the best way you knew how.
Working things out with every coworker and teammate, even if you barely navigated most social situations outside of volleyball.
That’s what we all appreciated about you.
Even if it barely worked, you weren’t afraid to try.
Disappointing those around you was much more terrifying.
Was that a part of your downfall?
If you didn't worry about our future so much, everything would be different.
You'd have a different partner in a city far from here.
Playing on a different team, driving a different car to a different interview.
But you choose me. To keep both of us happy, once again, doing what's best for everyone.
I’d carry any burden, no matter how heavy; I’d help you with it
If you slipped on the way, I'd be there to help you back up.
You refused to let that happen.
To weigh me down with your problems. Fiercely independent, refusing any support.
So you continued alone to not make us worry.
Stubborn and persistent in what you believed was right.
No good deed goes unpunished, so instead you got this.
Learn from my example and be selfish next time you get the chance.
-
The wind has stopped.
Now would be the perfect time to toss a few serves.
Shame I can’t catch yours again.
Yes, I know you're skilled enough to accurately aim during a tornado, but it's still a big advantage if you don't have
to account for it possibly swerving the ball.
I'm out of shape, so it wouldn't be a meaningful practice; a kindergartener could catch it with how weak I've gotten.
Otherwise, I still have equipment prepared, and not to brag, but I'm also keeping up with the current sports events
online like the youth do. (The teams this year are looking very promising; I'm unsure who to cheer for).
You said in this household sports are to be taken seriously, a statement contrary to the silly tone in which you announced it.
Anyone else would think you’re pulling on their leg; you were, in a way.
You know I can't stop caring about volleyball even if I wanted to.
All of the volleyballs are still outside in the cabinet where you left them, facing away from the sun so they don't fade during summertime.
The neighbors keep going on and on about how if I'm not using any of it, it should stay “locked in storage for good."
I swear they're denser than osmium; I don't need to explain myself to them.
It might rain these days; I’ll temporarily take them just in case.
After 20 years on the court, we both know how difficult it is to destroy them; alas, I won’t risk it.
I'll return them later; better safe than sorry.
-
Once the tears start, it’s like you can never make them stop.
The stinging and the blur make an already annoying situation worse.
I'm sorry to disappoint you again.
This isn't the behavior fit for the person you promised to marry.
I know you'd hate to see me like this, so for once I'm thankful you aren't around.
I'm trying to get better; my efforts just aren't being acknowledged. No matter how good the day goes, when I return home, it ends up like this again.
I think I'll be crying because of you for a while longer.
Don't blame yourself for it; I promise it's not your fault.
If there's so much I feel is missing without you, it's just proof of the mark you've made.
It means you've lived a full life until the very end.
Even with all that was left undone.
I wanted to marry you so badly. The fact you got to be my fiancée is so painfully unreal even now, but I wish it was more.
That we got to be one of those couples holding a big ceremony.
Dressed to the nines. Surrounded by lavish bouquets and glass chandeliers.
In the sea of guests and all the luxuries I can think to imagine, I'd be too busy looking only at you.
The most handsome man I'd ever met, my one and only soulmate.
Looking me in the eyes as you answer, "Yes, I do."
I'd lift you up, and we'd continue with a big celebration.
For just a little while everything in life would seem alright.
I’m sorry I couldn't provide that. I'm sorry I didn't plan sooner. I'm sorry I kept putting it away.
I'm sorry you went into the ground with only an engagement ring and a promise of what was to be.
I’m sorry.
-
“Crying won’t fix anything, you damn cat!"
That’s what you'd probably say.
I don't know if you’d even face me like this.
It's not a state a man my age should let himself slip into so easily.
I’m sorry I'm not as strong as you were. It's only by a sliver of a difference.
Believe me, I knew you weren't the best at handling things.
But damn, you were good at pretending.
That ability of yours, keeping a cool head no matter what, I could really use right now.
–
I hope you kept your dignity until the end.
I don't think I've ever felt more scared than when that phone call from the police came.
Or have I felt nothing at all? I'm not sure.
It was weird, like the world had suddenly thrown me off the edge of an endless cliff.
I was falling with no help in sight. No up or down, nowhere to land, and no one to reach out a hand.
Not stopping until I lose air, my vision goes to a blur, and all of me gives out.
Was it fatigue or shock that kept pulling me to the ground?
It would have been the right thing to do, help them make an ID, I mean.
I couldn't get myself to do it, mentally and physically.
Realizing I lost you made everything seem so foreign.
I swear at that moment I wouldn't have known to tell you my name if you'd asked, let alone be allowed to drive a car.
Where would I even go? I was supposed to be waiting for you like I promised.
They were so damn cold; it's not professionalism, it's heartless.
"We found a body in a ditch, and one of your business cards was in the deceased's wallet.
We need you to come to the station, yada, yada."
The deceased. You have a name, god fucking damn it.
"The deceased from the ditch"—that's all they reduced you to.
The official cause of death was ruled as internal bleeding, dead on impact.
Even if help arrived in seconds, no hope of you being brought back had ever existed.
So I've been told.
If I had been of sound enough mind to make it there, I still would have been asking for someone to try and do something,
anything that can be done, to get you back.
I didn't want to see that.
I didn't want to have the image of a bloody, cold body that used to be the person I loved burned into my eyes forever.
Was it wrong? How I always wanted to keep the memory of you before that as the only one I'd ever know.
I will take the many moments of life you wanted over the final one you couldn't choose, any day.
Maybe it would have been better if I had been there to check on you, as your partner
Present no matter the circumstance.
Were you waiting there with no strength to greet me or open your eyes to see me ever again?
That memory, all I have left now, has made me scared in its own way.
I hesitate. Then when the police called, and when it was time for the funeral.
None of that is who you are or where you're supposed to be.
You belong elsewhere. Resting on my lap after a long day at work when I decide to steal your spot on the couch,
listening carefully as I tell you the teams for the upcoming tournament season.
That's where you're supposed to be.
Not in a hardwood casket 6 feet under the ground.
Far away in a cemetery, the final resting place you didn't get to pick yourself.
I'm dwelling on it too much; in the end, it doesn't really matter where the body rests when the soul leaves.
What matters is that you chose to live with me.
Here, where I'd hoped you'd be for at least a while longer.
If we ever fell out of love, or you didn't like this place, we could have moved.
We'd work it out like we always did. I'd be with you in any place in the world anyway.
Wherever life would have taken us, I'd be happy as long as you were there next to me, safe and comfortable, alive.
–
An annoying thing about being human: we're so stubborn when we decide we're right.
Even when it hurts, even when we know it's a lie.
When everything is screaming at us to snap out of it, we refuse to give up on what we believe in.
No matter how dire the situation is, we wait for a miracle, for the circumstances to change.
Bringing us what we so desperately want.
Who we want.
One day I'll face the fact that you've left.
I don't know when that will happen.
Until then, I'll hope and hope, patiently, to meet you once more.
-
I have to go
Remember to visit.
I'll keep my promise.
So wait for me, okay?
See you later, Suguru.