notes: this is kind of like a companion piece to "Evanescence" now that I think about it. sorry my writing is so short nowadays. I guess I'm just pretty lazy.


the color of spring

There is a room just for her in her aunt and uncle's house. The walls are plain white, free from pictures, and the furniture is painted in soft, muted colors like cream and pink. The bed is neatly made, with clean white sheets and two pillows. A plain cherry wood desk and a little quaint bookshelf stand in the corner, holding books whose titles sound like maudlin romance novels. It's nice, she supposes, though ordinary.

Nothing has changed since her arrival except for a small suitcase lying open next to her bed. She has hung up some of her clothes in the closet, just her school uniform and some of her skirts and dresses - she never liked wearing pants. Kanade thinks it's as if no one lives here and she is only a ghost occupying the space, floating around and leaving barely a trace in her footsteps, hardly existing at all.

She is sitting cross-legged on the bed, her fingers ghosting over the cool, soft fabric of her favorite summer dress, and she suddenly wishes for the warmth of summer. It reminds her of something, but she doesn't know what. Kanade frowns; that's been happening to her a lot lately, trying to grasp at distant strands of memories and always coming up empty-handed, leaving her feeling as if an entire piece of her life is missing. It's unsettling, to say the least. She's always sensed a distance between her and the other people in her life; her silence often leaves her forgotten in the corner of the room and nobody pays any attention to someone like her, anyway.

Through the window, she watches the leaves scattering in the breeze and her throat unexpectedly feels constricted. All of a sudden the small room feels like a prison.

She feels trapped, suffocated, so she moves to open her window. It takes some effort to push the frame open, but once she does she feels better immediately, breathing in the fresh air eagerly. The curtains sway in the spring breeze. The wind is cool and relaxing on her skin and for no reason at all, it makes her cry.

An image of a boy comes to mind, with a kind smile and warm eyes. She doesn't remember his name, only that he loved her. Maybe she loved him too. Kanade leans back on her bed and presses her fingers into her pale forehead, thinking hard, trying to remember. She can just faintly recall his smell, the scent of vanilla and cherry blossoms in spring. Abruptly, a tune pops into her head and she doesn't know how it came to her, but she hums it anyway. It breaks the silence of the empty room and sounds familiar and foreign all at once. She thinks of a heart, beating slow and steady and with a promise of a new life, and instinctively places a hand on her wrist to feel her own heartbeat.

Then she remembers: Otonashi.

She can't help but laugh and cry at the same time.