I watch her disappear around the corner, yellow dress glowing under the lamps.
I walk home clutching the tiny plush cat like it's proof the day actually happened.
In my room I sit on the floor, back against the bed, and stare at the dead computer screen.
I think of the real Kiyoshi—whoever he was, whatever he did, whatever he sacrificed.
I think:
If you're still in here somewhere…
I hope you can see this.
Because tomorrow,
I'm going to try to live the gentle life you never let yourself have.
Tomorrow,
I'm going to tell the girl who waited two years
that I want to stay.
I fall asleep still holding the plush cat,
and for the first time since I woke up in this body,
I don't dream of blood or burning. I dream of strawberry milkshakes and a hand small enough to fit perfectly inside mine. But the dream feels weird.