Of Course It's A Lie

Thoughts

Nunoe remembered the first time she'd bought a diary. It had originally been for the purpose of recording the ideas and feelings she'd have that seemed too obtrusive to heap onto other people. When she'd had Sumire, the journal had been lightly used. In the dark tunnel that marked most of their middle school years, she'd scribbled endlessly about her fears, her worries, her attempts to keep her shoulders squared and her mind and heart open. Nunoe didn't succeed, and Sumire drifted away somehow. Sumire had become an aficionado of a wide variety of entertainment, from bands to books to dramas to games. Nunoe had become used to depending on Sumire for help. All the years that Nunoe had struggled with school, Sumire had been there for her so many times. When she suddenly stopped, it was like withdrawal. Nunoe began to flounder and fail. And all Sumire had to offer, like a tantalizing biscuit to a dog, was the mass of music and fiction and manga she kept forcing into Nunoe's bedroom bookshelf with a wide smile and closed eyes.

When it became apparent that Sumire was well on her way out of Nunoe's life, Nunoe had, again, stopped writing as often.

She had tried various forms of writing. She had written poems, short stories, comics, plays, letters to herself from the past, emails to herself in the future, all in the vain attempt to clearly express what she was thinking inside. But as she grew older, it became less of a matter of thoughts and more of a matter of a lack thereof. Instead Nunoe was ruled by fears, by instincts, by drama--she was no longer edging slowly but surely through life with friends by her side; rather, she was leaping clumsily from one rock to another in a foaming, seething river of insults and treachery. She didn't have the energy to express the loneliness she was feeling, as everything left her alone. Her friends, her grades, her books, her music, her skills, her hobbies, her basic instincts to wake up and shower and eat were all void.

Nunoe lifted her head off her desk. Outside, stars were twinkling, fighting against the urban city lights. The trees outside were wilting for autumn. Nunoe pushed her hair out from her face and gently thumbed through her old diary, until she reached a new page.

She stared, transfixed, at the whiteness for a bit, and then gripped her pencil in between her thumb and forefinger. Her hand was shaking a little, although that was probably from lack of sleep.

I am falling through a dark space, she began. The effort to ink out these words alone was astounding, and she reclined back into her chair with a sigh. Then she took another stab at it.

I am falling through a dark space alone.

To: ××××

I am falling through this darkness.

And you are pretending not to notice.

You are still talking to all your friends

And I am still thinking about the end.

I am unable to live with all the things you left behind in my mind

And my bedroom. Like scars. I'm sorry,

For all the stuff I must have done. It was truly awful of me.

I apologized many times. Sorry. That must have been bothersome.

Am I bothersome? I am, I know. It runs in my family. My sister is also

Bothersome. But you got irritated when I mentioned that because

You love her. More than me. Your mother doesn't call my mother anymore.

This is your fault. I'm very sorry I didn't try harder to get along with you. I couldn't be more

Like you. I am nothing like you. I've never been anything like you.

You are bothersome in my memory. I can't figure out what to do with the bracelet.

I wore it once to school, once to your house, and once to a party. I didn't want to go to any of these three places. Your bracelet kind of brought me comfort. I liked to think it had that power.

I am falling through this darkness alone. I'm too tired to eat and too tired to wake up.

I want to see you, so much that it hurts. I want to see you, because you hurt me.

I probably shouldn't see you, of course, but I keep telling myself I want to.

It's a lie.