Regret, and forget. This is what my music tells me.
“I’m sorry, Yoriko.”
His words would just strike through my heart like an emptiness spear. It would wound not my body but my own existence. Sakurai, he is not at fault. He simply likes another girl. It just so happens that it wasn’t me. I have to accept this.
Somehow I’ve convinced myself that I do accept this. I did not cry. Crying wasn’t my thing anyway. All I can do is shout. My beer drowns my throat, my rock music drowns my room. Maybe this is the difference between Sakurai and me. I know he likes sentimental songs. I even teased him for liking such.
“You know you can’t serenade someone with that anymore. Go with the times, man. Those stuff are quite embarrassing.” I explained.
“Who cares, I like what I like.” A simple answer from him.
I guess he’s right. Both in songs, and in love. “I like who I like”, I guess, as I pour down more of this stuff into me, slowly hallucinating a world where I couldn’t have done what I have done today. I drink another between night and blue, within darkness and colors, the hard, loud music of my soul would tell me things I wouldn’t understand at my state. This is how rejection feels like, eh?
Sakurai is my friend, and nothing changes that. Sakurai reassured me that. And so this pain is of just one day, or two. Tomorrow… wait… maybe the day after tomorrow. Once I’ve sobered up away from my alcohol. Once I’ve turned down the volume of this stereo. Once that happens, I can walk up to his house and wake him up again like the usual. With my loud bass headphones, I would annoy his sleep with a fierce banging from my favorite rock track into his ears. He would wake up, with that same angry expression on his face that I liked. And I would shout with my own angry words:
“Morning, damn sleepy head! Get up you fool!”
(to be continued.)