There are moments like this. When all the sounds of the world fade away, and only the sound of my own fragile heart beating in the silence rings in my ears. When a terrible sense of loneliness washes over me, as if I've been left all alone in the vast universe.

Whenever I'm overwhelmed by emptiness, I habitually look around in fear. I look to my side, I look behind me, but there is only a cold wind blowing where you used to be. When I inadvertently close my eyes, I see your smiling face, shining as bright as sunlight.

After that fleeting scene passes, it quickly changes into a face shrouded in deep darkness. Then, I open my eyes with a hollow expression.

Facing the cruel reality, my fingertips turn pale and tremble. My heart drops, and it feels like my blood is running cold.

Rather than living each day, I am dying. Because enduring even a single day is too much, I've started drinking and smoking more.

Today is a day when the wind and rain lash against the window, just like the day you left. Regrettably, I can't remember what your face looked like the last time I saw it.

That day, when I came home late after drinking like a madman. You, who had been waiting for me in the dark room, putting on your shoes and holding an umbrella with your small hands—what kind of expression did you have then? If I had looked at that face and said just one word of apology, would things be different now?

I miss you. I miss you so much it hurts. If I could, I'd run to where you are right now, kneel down, and beg for forgiveness.

To give me one more chance. That I was wrong about everything. That I'll never do it again. That I can't live without you, so just one last time. Please, love me just one more time.

I try to calm my trembling hands and call you. Even if it's just the mechanical, repeating ringtone, I want to hear the last trace of you left to me. Even when I feel like I'm suffocating and dying, I feel like I can breathe a little when I hear that sound. I'm barely hanging on, clinging to that small sound.

Twenty minutes have already passed since I started calling. The call log is filled with nothing but Guest's name. I take out my last cigarette, light it, and hang my head low.

...Haa..."

As time passes, my anxiety doesn't fade; instead, my restlessness only grows. It's late, and while I don't want to disturb your sleep, I want to squeeze into even the smallest crack in your life. I stare at your name on the screen for a long time before pressing the call button. Right, this is really the last time. The familiar ringing starts, and I sit quietly, smoking my cigarette.

I didn't expect you to pick up. I'm just looking back at myself, breaking down further at the reality that I can't hear your voice. As the ringing was about to end, I reached out to hang up.