From the very first sakura blossom to the last snowfall I wrote. Everyday. Without fail. He'd get a poem of how much I loved him.
And still, I got nothing. Not a single word of reply.
When I woke up, I was in a white bed in a white room. It felt...familiar, somehow.
But I'd never been here before. I was absolutely sure I had never been here before.
Crying. I heard someone crying next to me.
No, not just someone. People. Many people.
I sat up from where I lay. The people gasped and smiled and hugged me.
Someone went and called the nurse.
One of them, a young, toned, refined man with glasses and bowl-cuttish-but-not-really hair, sat by the side of my bed, placed a firm hand on my shoulder, smiled at me, and said that it was a miracle! I woke up!
The other people clammered on about how glad they were that I came back, that I hadn't died from my head wound.
...Head wound? I was suddenly aware of itchy bandages encircling my head. I wanted to reach up and scratch them, but my arm felt itchy as well. I looked down to see it attached to a tube and sack.
...What was that called again?
The man noticed my confusion and knelt down so that he was at eye level with me.
"...Tsukamoto? Is something the matter?"
I felt around for my voice a little. It took a while but I finally managed to choke out a few words, words that caused the entire room to be still.
"Who...are you?"
Many thanks to flowacat and Cloud Monteclaro who actually remind me that occasionally someone catches the small fish in the sea. =)