I take a look around the room. Not literally, of course, since I can barely see it - all I see are vague, colorful suggestions of my furniture. I can feel it, though, as flowery as that sounds. The faint smell of old books, sweat, and my personal belongings. For three years I filled my room with them, picked and bought and stole and made every one of them. I can't see it from my position, but behind the desk there's a small box with charts and markers. In the desk drawer, loose papers where I recorded thoughts I figured were worth keeping. Hidden neatly under the bed, a stash of pills. Under my feet, a sturdy wooden chair.
 
I wonder how long it'll take them to find it. To find me.
 
I can hear the world around me. It's breathing slowly, inhaling and exhaling. Idle machines humming, birds chirping, faint laughter. Not exactly sure what I'm doing, I move my arms around, trying to feel the room around me. My hands touch the wall, passing the rope slightly. It's a little tight, but that's alright. My mouth is dry, and I swallow loudly.
 
Regrets?
I don't know if I have regrets.
I could have done better, I suppose. A brief vision crosses my eyes, and I can smell something sweet. I can hear her mumbling something, and then a harsher voice telling her to speak up. She raises her eyes, her shudders even worse but her voice steady, telling me it's over. So many missed opportunities, afternoons that could have been spent together, so many silences I could have filled with sweet nothings, with contact, all gone.
 
I don't know if I regret it. Maybe if I went back even farther, I could have fixed it. Fixed me. Communicate by smiling, not scowling. Being supportive, or something like that. Not telling her she's useless at every turn. Not being... not being me.
 
I swallow again, and feel the rope. It's strong, and I think it'll hold. I take my glasses off and toss them away, closing my eyes.
 
I'm sorry, Yuuko.