A letter addressed to Hitomi Kawari (a revision of the one in the good end of Michiru's route).
[September 11, 2011]
Mrs. Hitomi Kawari
St. Andrews, Montague Street 141
Saint Andrews, New Brunswick
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To Mrs. Kawari,
Hello again. How are you doing? Before I start, I apologize for my sudden visit just the other day. You have my sincere thanks for your kind reception, considering the abruptness of my call. I believe your daughter loved you very much, and your husband too, of course. But in adolescence, it might be embarrassing to say so face-to-face with one's parents. Maybe you know what I'm talking about, ma'am?
Your daughter would always tell me about how much gratitude she felt for her parents. She told me a story once, about a trip to an amusement park with her mom and dad. One that she would never forget—and her telling of the story was so detailed, I know she wasn't exaggerating. She told me about the wonderful colors she saw: the warm and heartfelt laughter of her family, the smell of sweet popcorn, and the unforgettable red of a balloon floating upward into the sky. She told me how she had burst into tears at the sight of a "big, scary" bear mascot, and how her father had carried her on his back once she got tired. She even told me about the lecture she received on the ride back home, because she had eaten a whole bag of chocolate on her own. All of this, she told me with a smile. I know that each of those memories was a treasure to her. Did she ever tell you how she felt? Oftentimes, the years between childhood and maturity are when it's hardest for us to express how we truly feel. It's only after too long, when nothing can be done, that we realize just how precious they were. Just how valuable those feelings and memories were.
I want to tell you a little about myself, now. I'm blessed with great friends and an amazing partner. I'm surrounded by people who care for me, and the feeling is mutual. It's a very happy life. And even though we're an ocean apart, I see you as a part of my happy life. You're a dear friend to me. I know it may seem sudden and forward, but that's what I really feel. Right now, I'm nowhere near you and your daughter, but I know that a day will never pass where my mind doesn't drift to you. If I were to be completely honest with you, I believe your daughter has found happiness.
This letter is already longer than expected, so allow me to end things here. If you don't mind, may I write to you again? There are a lot of things that I want to tell you, and if you ever feel like doing so please send a letter in reply. I would like to hear how you're doing. But for now, until we meet again.
From Japan, with love..
Michiru Matsushima
P.S. Your daughter's room is still the way it was, right? I would suggest that you make a visit and check for any loose tiles in the ceiling, particularly around where the foot of her bed is. Something tells me that it wouldn't be a waste of time.