さようなら

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sayounara

Arima Kousei clutched the bouquet of magenta and white zinnia flowers tightly.

 He didn't say anything - he hadn't planned to have anything to say. Would she have hit him for that? Maybe... she seemed to hate it when he couldn't look her in the eye because she looked to much like his dead mother and when silence hung between them for too long.

What was he supposed to say anyway?

He had tried so hard. He had played. He had fought because he promised he would.

His other hand gripped onto her letter tightly.

"You're not a princess," he whispered, "You are a girl who likes stuffed toys and sweets. You are a musician who fought with everything you had. You are the violinist who I accompanied."

His eyes scanned the shaky characters on the smooth paper, and his fingers traced rough patches where her tears had soaked the paper through.

"You forced me back on stage."

He stared at the name that was neatly embossed on grey stone.

宮園 かをり

"You made me look up."

He set the flowers down, raising his head to face the sky. Her handwriting remained in his mind, some strokes too thin and others too thick.

"You made me fall in love."

He was thinking of her - of her back, of when they first met, of when she stood up in the snow. There was the barest hint of a smile that turned up the corners of his lips, yet at the same time, he could feel the wetness that had gathered in his eyes grow heavy and fall. Those days with her had been bliss.

But they were gone now.

'I will never forget you.'

He breathed in the spring air - full of sweetness but somehow still so empty - without her.

'sayounara.'

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