'Dear Rin. I hope this finds you well.'
It's a beautiful, sunshine day.
The world is a gorgeous shade of oranges and blues, the light filtering in upon the blond's desk. He's seated on his very comfortable armchair, leaning over the mahogany furniture. A fine point pen is gripped tight in his white fingers, and his face is stern, sporting a good poker face.
Laying across his desk are multiple sheets of paper, some littered with words in scrawling letters, others still waiting for ink to be placed upon their surfaces.
Each day, he writes a letter.
Sometimes he speaks of the joys of his life, like the fact he picked up the last banana pudding at the superstore before they were out that night, or how he ran across a stray cat that he adopted accidentally. Other times he would detail his woes, like forgetting to turn his oven off and nearly burning down his home, or the time he walked into the women's restroom and embarrassed himself in front of the girl he was seeing.
Stories upon stories that remind him of what it is to be alive.
Alongside that, far more importantly, is what he truly wants to convey. It's a mess of heartfelt confessions and desperate pleas, wishing upon stars or crying out about how awful things are. He talks about how much he wants to see her again, how small the world's problems seem since she's been gone. He tells her he loves her over and over again until his hands ache with soreness and his pen threatens to run out of ink.
He draws little doodles on the corners of pages, bananas and oranges, her own favorite. He decorates the lined pages with tears sometimes, and others he sprays cologne on it like he's hoping she'll picture him the moment he opens them to read. Other times he'll put little knick knacks and objects in to surprise her with, like duck feathers or jewelry, things he knows she'd adore once she sees them.
He writes them every single day, pages upon pages—
Every day, there is no response.
It's become routine to him to walk out to his mailbox, letter in hand, and pull down the door to put it in the mail, retrieving the one of the mailed a week prior. He sees the postal stamp and the words 'return to sender' in large print, sigh, and then take it back inside, leaving another hopeless attempt behind him. He'll take this chance to breathe in the fresh summertime air.
Then he'll go back inside, to his study, and pull open his locked drawer on his left side, revealing the mountains of returned letters he's been writing for the past four years. This isn't even all of them; he has at least two totes of them hidden away in his closet with her name imprinted on them.
He can't stop, though. It's what keeps him going.
The simple, heartbreaking dream that she'll send him just one page in the mail. That's all it would take to make him stop, but as always, it's hopeless.
Some days it depresses him to the point he can't function. Others he screams in his study and throws everything off his desk in a rage.
Afterwards he'll sit back down and start anew. He's used to the writing by now, and he's utilized his knack for it by writing books for a living. Since he left high school, he's written novels centered towards trauma and tragedy. He can't write happy books; they can't be genuine like he wishes they would be.
Everything he writes is an ode to her, a message that can't reach her.
It's not her fault, either. If it were he'd be more forgiving, but it hasn't been a choice for her.
After all, she can't answer him where she is now.
"Today I fed my Rinto a new type of catfood. He seems to like it. I think he might have found a friend outside, but I'm afraid he'll get lost if I keep letting him out. I forgot to mention to you the last time I wrote, but Miku and Kaito are having a child together. Isn't that great for them? You always did say that they'd end up married with a white picket fence. You said the same thing about us too, didn't you?'
His days go on and on like this, a never ending cycle of his letters, spinning in his head. Maybe he writes the exact thing for the letter of the day, or maybe he just writes her name over and over like a mantra, a curse.
'I ran into Gumi this morning. She's wonderful, pursuing her art career. I thought she was going to be a mechanic sometime, with all her talk about making androids, but maybe she decided to drop that dream. Maybe in another life she will be. What do you think will become of me in the next life?'
Today's an emotional day for him. It's a reminder of her in everything he sees.
If only she would answer.
'She said she was worried about me. Isn't that funny? I told her there was nothing to worry about. She… also said she misses you.'
The pens scratches at the paper loudly, an echoing noise that feels familiar yet cold to him.
'I miss you too. I hope you're reading these somewhere nice. I still visit your mom for you. I brought her an apple pie yesterday. She's retiring overseas next year, and leaving her flower shop to your younger brother. That's hilarious, isn't it? I thought he hated how much time your mom spent there. You always were better at judging someone's character than I was. I wish I had that talent. Or, I wish I just had you here with me now.'
It hurts to remember all the times he stayed up late with her back when they were kids. They'd sneak into each other's rooms, being neighbors, and giggle the night away. As his crush developed into love, he spent so much time with her.
If only she hadn't been taken away like she'd been. She was only nineteen. It was an accident.
He still curses that day like it was yesterday; it haunts him as if it had been.
'I think about you every day, you know?'
'I wish you'd say something. Anything. Please. Maybe if I could see you again for just a few minutes this would be easier. I know this all must seem so pathetic to you right now. If you could, I bet you'd laugh at me being so sappy to you all the time. You used to tell me not to put all my apples in one basket, or however that saying went, and risk it all on new things. You'd tell me not to let my dreams be dreams. You were my reminder that I was able to be something. I am who I am today because of you.'
It'd been a late night in October when it happened. He'd called her two minutes before, telling her he could walk her home, but she was certain she'd be fine. It was only a short trek back to her house from a halloween party, and she was sober and happy. She told him to stop worrying so much with a laugh.
That same night, she was hit on the sidewalk by a drunk driver. Her phone was still in her hand.
'I know I sound sad all the time when I talk about you, but I'm not. Really. …Okay, maybe a little. But I'm working through it. This is how I cope without you, you know? It's not easy either, but it's better than sitting around doing nothing, right?'
Even to this day he can still hear her cheerful voice, the tinkle of her giggles. The deep ocean blue of her eyes and her golden hair. The scent of vanilla and citrus will send him to tears on a whim.
So he writes. He writes out his feelings in the vain hope that he might read a response one day when it never comes. He's sane, he knows the truth, but this is the only thing that keeps him from losing it. Without her the world ended, and he ended too.
Head bowed to the desk, he prays that even in heaven she can read his heartfelt words.
'I know you're probably happier where you are now. You're not in pain. I just want to know if you still think about me. I wish I hadn't been so cowardly, Rin.'
'That halloween party was where I was supposed to tell you how I really, truly felt about you. I wanted to kiss you for the first time and find out if how I felt was the same as you. I don't think I could ever kiss someone now and not think about what it would have been like with you. All the missed opportunities, all the lost chances I had that I messed up. What was supposed to end in a happy ending for us became a tragedy for you.'
'Even still…'
'I won't stop writing you. Even when I'm old and gray and can barely write my own name, I'll keep writing yours. Forever, Rin. I'll be with you forever. And while I can't say it to you in person anymore, I want these words to reach you where you are. You don't even have to respond; I'm sure you can feel them.'
'I love you Rin. I'll always love you.'
'I'll write you again tomorrow.'