She still thought about him. Yoko dreamed about Kamina too. Seven years later and he was still very much a part of her life. Yes, she had moved on. Yoko taught school and she loved it. The children were great. She was fulfilled and content. But a spark was missing and that spark was Kamina. He had that kind of effect on people, a profound, lasting one. Kamina had been larger than life and sometimes Yoko yearned for him, a deep, painful yearning that hurt right down to her very core.
He had irritated Yoko at first with his over the top personality. Kamina was loud and almost nauseatingly positive, childishly idealistic and stubborn. The guy never gave up, ever. Death was the only thing that stopped the young man, and even that didn't extinguish his light completely. He grew on Yoko, a little bit more each day that they spent together, and soon enough she couldn't imagine life without him.
It figured that the first guy Yoko gave her heart over too, and without really knowing she was doing so, the first guy who made her pulse race, the first guy she even considered a future beyond the present moment with, died a short time later. It wasn't fair. But then, Kamina was the dead one, wasn't he?
"Seriously, Yoko, get a damned grip." Chastising herself wouldn't solve the problem, or was it even one, but it would temporarily cease her wool gathering.
She turned off the light in her bedroom and crawled beneath the covers on her bed. Hugging herself for comfort, Yoko soon fell asleep.
"What's the matter, teacher?" one of her students asked just before class began.
The genuine concern in his sweet little voice moved her almost to tears. The community was a close knit one, this village on a lonely island that she had adopted as home. And she, known there as Yomako, was a central figure, important to just about everyone.
"I'm fine, honey, just fine." She carefully schooled her features and presented the boy with a bright, happy smile. "Sometimes I think of something or someone from a long time ago and I get a bit sad." Adjusting her glasses, Yoko sat at her desk and awaited the influx of the remaining children.
They and time healed her hurt, at least temporarily. By the end of the school day, Yoko had almost forgotten her reverie of the night before. But once back in her rooms, thoughts of Kamina dominated her mind once again.
"Damn you," she cursed, but her words held no vitriol.
Kamina had died as he had lived after all. How could she fault him for that?