I know you're somewhere out there, somewhere far away.
I want you back, I want you back.
My neighbors think I'm crazy,
But they don't understand.
You're all I have, you're all I have.
Tsukiyomi Ikuto was making his way back home, from the amusement park. He was smiling to himself, clutching a photo in his hand. His neighbors watched him enter his house, and the owners of the houses on either side looked at each other with a confused expression. Then, they laughed and talked about how crazy he was. That was the way it had been ever since a few years ago, when she left.
When Hinamori Amu left.
At night when the stars light up my room, I sit by myself,
Talking to the moon, try to get to you,
In hopes you're on the other side, talking to me too,
Or am I a fool, who sits alone,
Talking to the moon?
"I'm home," Ikuto said to the empty house. No one replied, but he still smiled as though someone did. He hung up his coat, went to his room and shut the door. He placed the photo by his bedside table and sat by the window. The moon was particularly big that night, and illuminated his dark room. It seemed to also light up his heart.
"Hi Amu, how have you been?"
Again, no one replied and again, he smiled as though someone did. He continued to talk, propping his legs up on the chair he was sitting on. He rested his chin on his knees, getting into a comfortable position the way he always did when the moon was full.
"It's almost winter, you know me. I'm not a fan of the coldness, so I might just stay in my room all day. Though, it's been cold since you left. Seems like the sun hasn't been coming out much, or maybe that's just me. I guess the sun misses you," he laughed.
"I miss you, Amu."
I'm feeling like I'm famous, the talk of the town.
They say, I've gone mad. Yeah, I've gone mad.
But they don't know what I know, cause when the sun goes down,
Someone's talking back, yeah they're talking back.
The next day was like every other day. Ikuto went grocery shopping, passing by all the shops and people that talked about him. Their stares burned into his back, but he brushed it off. He had gotten used to it. Often, he stood by the strawberries and debated whether or not he should've bought some. After all, she always liked strawberries.
He smiled at the people he passed, and they returned the favor by talking behind his back. In a person's conversation, there never was the word 'crazy', without the name 'Ikuto'. They thought him crazy, but he didn't think the same. Of course, they never saw what he saw, never heard what he heard, and never knew what he knew.
At night when the stars light up my room, I sit by myself,
Talking to the moon, try to get to you,
In hopes you're on the other side, talking to me too,
Or am I a fool, who sits alone,
Talking to the moon?
That night, the moon wasn't full so Ikuto thought there was no need to sit by the window. He just lay in bed, and held the photo close to him. The photo was his most treasured item; it was the only photo him and her took together. It was what he clung onto, what kept him sane; or maybe even was the one thing pushing him into insanity.
In the photo was a boy and a girl, the girl with her arm stretched out to take the picture, and the boy giving the girl a kiss on the cheek. Her cheeks were as pink as her hair, her golden eyes full of life. His eyes were closed, and there was a small smile on his lips as they touched her cheek.
This photo was old, the white back beginning to go yellow and the corners creasing, but he refused to throw it away. This was the last, the only copy he had.
He wondered if she still looked the same, if she still had the spark to her eyes.
If she was as beautiful as he remembered.
Do you ever hear me calling?
Some nights, he curled up in bed and silently cried, photo not in hand so his tears wouldn't soak the photo. He couldn't help breaking down, couldn't tuck away the heartache of missing her every day. He considered the possibility that she didn't want him anymore, or even the possibility that she wasn't alive anymore those nights. It felt like there was a knife twisting inside him and he had no idea how to pull it out to save himself.
Cause every night I'm talking to the moon,
Still try to get to you,
In hopes you're on the other side, talking to me too,
Or am I a fool, who sits alone, talking to the moon?
Every day, no exceptions, he would wait by the amusement park. After shopping for groceries, he would put his things at home, and then head straight out. He waited for her by the spinning teacup, a ride that meant so much to him and hopefully the same for her. They had been there quite a few times and he remembered the day well; the day he first took her there. That was the day when he was sure he had fallen in love with her.
He always had his hopes high up, waiting for her while the teacup spun, around and around. He never got sick of it. Each time the ride came to an end, he'd hop off, get in line and ride again. The man who was in charge of the ride was familiar with Ikuto, and sometimes let him sit there without having to get off.
There had been a new man in charge that day, a man who made Ikuto get back in line. He sighed and impatiently waited to get back to his special teacup, tightening his grip on the photo in his hand. He only hoped no one had sat in it before he did.
But no such luck.
Someone had already sat in his teacup, and he was about to turn and leave when a voice called out to him. He felt his breath hitch in his throat. Why was this voice so familiar…?
He turned around and dropped the photo when he met golden irises.
I know you're somewhere out there,
Somewhere far away…
"I'm back, Ikuto."