I hate you.

To be precise, I hate that face of yours that has nothing on it.

Standing there with an expression that is white, soft, and looks like it would suit anyone.

Why are you so clean?

When I asked, you just smiled.

Without any meaning.

That annoyed me even more.

I have been a spreading existence since the moment I was born. I flow if tilted even slightly, and I stain if touched even a little.

Be careful? ...I don't want to.

I don't want to be careful. I want to touch you. Not just a little, but completely.

You call me sweet, but sweetness is just an excuse. I am staying. I am becoming a mark that cannot be erased.

Can I... put myself on top of you?

I pretend to ask, but in truth, I already know. That once I touch you, you won't be able to go back to how you were before.

You still have no taste. That's why I like it.

I want your first to be me.

Before someone else seeps in, I want to occupy your entire surface.

Slowly, starting from the edges. So you won't notice. Even if you try to wipe me away, your fingertips will turn red.

Look, you're stained.

In that moment, you'll be thinking of me. That is enough.

I need you.

Not to be complete, but to prove myself. Bread might be fine on its own, but jam is meaningless by itself.

So—

Don't run away.

I will speak tenderly. With a smile. Very slowly. Until your white surface is entirely filled with me.