Disclaimer: This work is a derivation of the film 5 Centimetres Per Second, which along with all of its characters, story and plot is the property of CoMix Wave Inc. and Shinkai Makoto, and to which I make no claims of ownership whatsoever. This is a non-profit work made solely for purposes of entertainment.

April 13th 2006

I wrote her after that time at the railroad crossing, I had to find out, I thought, so that I could move on, as if turning my back on such an opportunity would be a symbol of some kind of new beginning. At first it even seemed like it would be, when she confirmed that she'd been there, that she'd seen me too and done the same thing, I felt a rush and thought: "This is where it's all going to change!" Instead, two weeks later, I'm still sitting here, in my apartment, spending my days watching telly and living on beer and cup noodles while life is slowly drifting by. The only good thing that's come out of that mail is that we've resumed our correspondence, with the next letter being the only thing I look forward to these days. After all that time not hearing from each other, we seem to be remembering every little thing that happened to us since I visited her in Iwafune all those years ago, and we've been mailing each other bits and pieces of our lives ever since. It kinda feels like we're following the most interesting drama series ever made, though I'm sure that's something only the two of us would ever agree on.

She's married now and has managed to get a stable office job here in Tokyo; she seems happy. First time I heard about it, I felt my stomach churn and my heart contract, but rather than feeling jealous I just felt angry at myself. Maybe I could have made things turn out differently. Had I only sent her those mails in high school instead of just writing and erasing them all the time, if I'd kept in touch with her, we might have been able to coordinate and get into the same university, then maybe we'd be married, working and living happily. Now, I just don't care anymore; I don't feel anything. Aside from that one time at the crossing, I can't even remember the last time I cared about anything. It's like nothing matters, like it hasn't for a long time. Perhaps nothing ever has. I have no plans for my life, neither any for how I'm supposed to be able to keep slacking like this without any income. I don't even know what I'm going to do tomorrow, though most likely I'm simply going to do the same thing as today: nothing. Even though I haven't done anything since November, I still have plenty of savings left. Seems I was a hard-working man before all of this. That all seems so long ago now, I can hardly remember it.