tsukishima kei
I was taking a midnight stroll in the prefecture, my jacket and sweatpants were enough to keep me from the cold, chilly breeze. The light of the streetlamps illuminated the road before me as I followed it like a trail. The full moon shone on me, and I remembered thinking how it kept on following me at times as a kid.
I don't know, but my feet led me to a familiar street. I pranced my eyes around me, seeing the familiar lines of houses with unkempt lawns and dim rooms that showed no signs of life had me slightly taken aback. But one house still caught my attention more than the others.
My feet carried me towards the home. The home that's been unoccupied for years. Tall grasses that hid many secrets, dark and lifeless windows that were once lit and gleaming, just like the eyes of someone I truly knew, and a locked door like a heart that wouldn't let anyone in.
Except I had a key.
I dug through my pockets, searching between rubbish and phone until I held a familiar piece of metal between my fingers, feeling the cold tip of it. Pulling it out of my pocket as I approached the door, I slid it into the gaping keyhole and turned the knob.
Entering the run-down home, the door creaked as I pushed it open. The living room was devoid of furniture, except for a dusty bean bag and carpet. Staring at it, it made me feel like someone was still there, cozying up on the bean bag's softness, curling up just to fit in it.
I grabbed my phone and turned on its flashlight. Making my way around the dark corners of the house, it wasn't difficult nor scary. It felt calm. Soothing. Because it was a house I always went to, a house I visited in my everyday life.
Until that happened, 3 years ago.
I climbed up the rickety stairs, the wood creaking under the soles of my feet. I reached the top, and it reeked of dust. Just like the living room downstairs.
These familiar structures brought in memories. Happy memories, but I never wanted to recall them. Remembering them made me feel a gaping hole in me, a hole that could never be filled nor repaired.
I entered the room farthest into the hall. As I peeked in, I was surprised there was still furniture in it. It made me wonder if the rest of the rooms were the same.
I entered and closed the door behind me with a silent push and a click of the knob. I observed the room I was in; rundown pastel-colored walls, slightly torn posters, dirty framed pictures, a queen-sized bed with multiple stuffed toys and thick blanket on top and drawers with multiple stickers and doodles.
I sat on the bed, placing my phone beside me as the bed squeaked under my weight, the mattress sinking underneath. I just stayed there, looking around the dim room with a melancholic expression. This room, where I had always hung out in, the room I always stayed in. I loved it in within these four walls, I was relaxed and comfortable.
I still feel those feelings, but it was now induced with sadness and sorrow.
I bent forward as I recalled memories, but my phone fell down and slid under the bed, making a small thud. I got down on ny knees and peeked under, reaching out my arm for the device, but I saw something else beside my gadget. I wasn't expecting such a thing there, because in all my life, I knew there was nothing underneath but cobwebs and unwanted particles.
I grabbed it along with my phone.
A box, a tool box to be specific. It looked old, covered in specks of what was underneath the old bed. I dusted it off and wiped it against my sweatpants to rid it of the unwanted dirt. I shook it next to my ear, trying to know what was inside, but only a few things clanked against the insides.
Curiosity was over me, and the next think I knew, I had opened the box. I expected tiny tools, since it would be most logical, but I found photographs and small keychains.
I skimmed all the way to the bottom of it and found letters. It didn't look like the rest of the photographs. Heck, it looked out of place in this home. The letters weren't new, but they weren't old either. Everything here was hackneyed, trite, archaic, even. These letters seemed as if they were just written not long ago.
I read the first, and as I did, my tears pooled in my eyes.
