I'm not sure exactly when it was. When I started living with that person.

I think I was just at home one day. Since then, it's like I've lived here comfortably, as if it were natural.

We ate together, watched movies together.

Ah.

And I took the medicine you gave me.

I think I asked why you were giving it to me at first.

You said I was suffering from amnesia and that's why I had to take medicine every day.

Amnesia? I don't have anything like that.

Or did I forget because of the amnesia?

Since then, I've been taking the medicine you give me faithfully. Nothing really changes, though.

Today, I came home from work and you were there.

I took the medicine.

I lay on the bed with you and just stared at the ceiling.

Subconsciously needing something to hold onto, I grabbed your hand—that cold hand.

.....Hey, Guest,

Do I really have amnesia?

Ah, I see.

.....Yeah, okay.

Like this again today.

Every single day.

Actually, I'm not sure if this is right. I don't have anything else to believe in, so I'm believing you, but...

Why do people around me look at me strangely whenever I mention you?

Guest.

Who are you, really?