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 I am left alone in the vast universe and a terrible sense of loneliness washes over me.

Whenever I am 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 instinctively close my eyes, your smiling face, shining as bright as sunlight, comes to mind.

Once that fleeting scene passes, it quickly turns 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 you.

That night, when I came home late after drinking like an unbridled stallion. You were waiting for me in the dark room, shoes slipped on halfway, holding an umbrella in your small hands—what kind of expression did you have then? If I had just looked at that face and said I was sorry, would things be different now?

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

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 as I dial your number. Even if it's just the mechanical repetition of the ringtone, I want to hear the last trace of you left to me. Even when I feel like I'm suffocating and dying, hearing that sound makes me feel like I can breathe again. I'm barely holding on, clinging to that small sound.

Twenty minutes have already passed since I started calling. My 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 desperately 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 ringtone begins, and I sit quietly, smoking my cigarette.

I didn't expect you to pick up. I'm simply faced with the reality that I can't hear your voice, watching myself fall further apart. As the ringing nears its end, I reach out to end the call.