Ahh… I love classical pieces so much—
to the point where I sometimes smile hysterically while listening.

I think I’m at that stage where I feel a dark similarity between myself…
and a serial killer.
No—more like a lunatic who got used to killing,
not for any reason other than the thrill that floods his insides each time blood splatters before his eyes, making him smile.

Just like what I’m doing now.

I’m aware that I’m deranged in some way…
but I also know that I don’t dare to kill.

Maybe…
Here I am, smiling again…
Aahh...

As I slowly lift my head and lean back against this worn-out chair,
I wonder:

Why did I choose to sit here, surrounded by whiteness?

I also wonder:
Why did I push myself away into the darkness I once lived in?

I wonder too:
Why did I have to be there?

I can inhale deeply—
and exhale with all the strength from the depths of my being, laughing...
for no reason at all,
just because I remember—
I seized something that wasn’t mine.

I mean…
something I had no real connection to.

But… how?

Both of us—
I mean, me and the other self I pushed into the darkness—
we’re trapped here.

But I am the one who wants to cross the borders toward the outside.

There’s a strong urge flooding me to do that.
But every time I think about it—
every time I plan—
a strange feeling invades me.

As if I forgot something.
As if I can’t remember the reason I threw myself into this whiteness to begin with.

I might call this feeling fear, but…
No.
I don’t recall ever feeling fear before.

Maybe…
Maybe there’s a mirage deep inside me.
I faintly remember its existence.

But what I do remember vividly is that slanted smile tugging at one side of my mouth—
that raised eyebrow,
the way I tilt my head while biting the edge of my forefinger,
as I stare at something unseen.

Ahh…

Here I am, stopping the chair from rocking—
and staring down at the floor of this place.

Then—
I laugh.

Haa…

I spent so long believing that this slanted smile…
was yours, you who live in the darkness.

I mean—
How did I end up looking so much like you?

Is it because of your space that I sit in?

No wonder my memory betrays me sometimes…

Hey, me...
Give me back my red dress.
It suits me more than it suits you.

Here I am, laughing again—
“Hello? Can you hear me?”

I suddenly tilt my head—
then rise from the chair forcefully.

I spin around, lifting my arms high in the air as I twirl.

“Can you hear me?
I’m talking to you.”

My laughter rises—
and rises—
becoming hysterical.

I stop spinning.
Then—
I lift my head toward the horizon,
tilt it slightly…

“Can you hear me?
I’m speaking to you.”

In the blink of an eye,
my expression changes.

It turns black.

A dark gaze—
cold and emotionless—
stares into the horizon.

And with a slight smirk curling the corner of my lips,
I ask:

“Does blackness suit you, me?”

Then I tilt my head the other way—
waiting for an answer.

So you have no desire to meet me, self?
Have you forgotten that I am your spoiled child, me?

Are you there?

Why… why won’t you answer me?
I wonder…
I wonder where I am among all of this.

I spin around, looking here and there…
searching for a self,
a heartbeat,
a feeling.

I’m not alone here, am I?
Have you abandoned me here?
Why?

Here I am—
sitting on the ground,
kneeling,
with my head bowed and my gaze locked on the floor.

I wonder why I ever left the darkness I was used to.
And I wonder why I have to resemble you, me.

You…
You were never meant for darkness.
I was the only one who learned to live there.

That’s why…
I have no desire to stay here anymore.

I’m…
I’m tired of it.

My tears pool onto the ground,
falling like rain.

And if they keep gathering,
they might form a puddle…
then a river…
and if it worsens,
they could drown me right here.

Until this place becomes a depth—
a depth where my corpse would lie.

Is that what you want, me?

A soft, delicate laugh circles around me.

So here you are at last.

Even as I stay kneeling,
I hear it:

"Do you really think you can fool me again, like in the past, my dear Me?"

I think…
Arrogance has overtaken you, self,
for speaking to me that way.

You call me “dear”?
How can I be dear to you
when I’m left here alone?

You laugh?
How could you…

My features shift—
sometimes I am myself,
the one trapped in this place,
and sometimes I am her—
the self I threw into the darkness,
saying:

"Darkness suits neither of us.
It’s just that I… am rational."

Rational, she says…

Ahh…
Ahh…

Here I am,
lifting my head toward the horizon again,
still kneeling.

Ahh…
I forgot…

I’m just a spoiled child.