Thinking of You

A story of two friends, one pen and a whole bunch of postcards.

Disclaimer: I do not own Gakuen Alice, and I never will. ;)

Author's Note: This is my last piece, ever. Due to privacy issues with my Facebook account, I simply don't feel safe on this site anymore. Still, I feel like I have a need to thank those who got me to where I am now.

So I tried my best (though I failed completely) to include a bit of each of the people's pennames into this story. That only counts for those with pennames that are whole words, or parts of words. :) So, for example, with IndigoGrapefruit, I added 'grapefruit' into the story. ;)

Love you all, and you deserve so much more than this story alone, but thank you so much for the amazing time you've given me the pleasure of having on this site.

Hi.

Not sure if you'll receive this where you are, or even read this if you do magically get it, but here goes. The great thing about postcards is that you don't have to expect a reply. In fact, you don't usually expect anything. It's just a small little update on one's life, so as to make sure that no matter where the recipient resides, the sender still cares, and thinks about them.

It's been way too long since I was last able to communicate with you. Well, even if this is really just equivalent to talking to a brick wall, if it means to be able to somehow deceive my mind into thinking you're still around even if you don't reply, I'll do it. Every moment I'm free, I swear.

Does that weird woman at the back of this postcard gobbling grapefruits look familiar? Yeah, she doesn't really change, does she? And since her pregnancy, all she's done is eat various citrus fruits with salt or some other bizarre seasoning. I'm almost certain that I am a lunatic for being friends with her for so long, much less marrying her. Picking out girls for romance was never my specialty, I suppose.

Anyway, she insisted on that day that, when we went for a picnic, eating grapefruits- which, she admitted was her least favorite citrus fruit- would leave all the good fruits for later. The whole thing kind of reminded me of you, and the way you always added your cream before your coffee, and waited a long time so that it would sink to the bottom.

I recall when I asked why on Earth you would do something like that, and do you remember your response? You used to say how it tasted better when the cream was at the end, so that the bitterness of the coffee would be easily consumed by the sweetness of the cream. I always wanted to ask why you would drink coffee in the first place, if you didn't like the bitterness, but I guess it was because you still liked the coffee's taste, too. Still, I wish life put you into the coffee cup first as well, so that you wouldn't be consumed so quickly.

Sorry. I got caught up there. The postcard is getting a little wet, and the writing's a bit smudged, probably because of a small droplet of water that accidentally dropped on it. Please don't mind it.

Well, it's the middle of September, and I can smell happiness in the air.

I took a long time picking this postcard out. I know; it's conventional to pick a picture of the moon. Yeah, but I thought that maybe you could see the moon too, where you're from. So we're connected in that sense, right?

The crazy bear you created has finally found love, I think. Ever since you left, he'd been admittedly heartbroken, and even broke my nose when I attempted to hug him once. (Not as a comforting gesture, mind you. I was just trying to irk him, is all)

But this week, things have taken an unexpected turn for the better. As I observe, he always seems to hang around one little child with blonde hair, passionately bringing tea and vanilla-coated cookies as he used to do for you. I was actually surprised to see that the child was invited into the toy's humble abode without you around. I'd never had that opportunity even if I knew him for longer.

Did I mention that the child looks exactly like you? I've attached a small picture to this card, if you ever choose to have a look. The bear doesn't know at all that it isn't you. I guess he doesn't know how to let go.

And I guess, by writing this to you, I don't either.

It's been a while since I last wrote. It's already snowing outside, and I'm really sorry for the delay.

An update: I had to get a new hat from some random store today. For some reason, Natsume Hyuuga flamed it and found it funny. It took me a while to figure out it was him, but I asked Youichi, the self-proclaimed kid detective, if he had any clue as to where it was. And yes, he pointed me to that narcissist.

He told me I looked better without it. The jackass. He started to really annoy me. Him and his vanity, that is. I wonder what it was that Mikan saw in this freak. (Maybe because she's a bit of a hopeless romantic, or that he's a complete sweet-talking Romeo when it comes to her…) Usually, I would have enough inspiration within myself to chase that idiot around the whole town for what he did, but I don't know. It seemed okay to let it be. (I mean, that's what you would've done, no?)

But still, the fact that it was winter didn't help make Hyuuga's case. My head was freezing to the core whenever a snowflake landed on it.

Last night, I ate tomato soup with cheese cubes on the side, while watching some show on the eclipse on TV. The cheese cubes tasted like crap (they didn't have much color to begin with…), so I gave them away to the little cute mice that Ruka has. They gladly accepted it.

I took a sip of the soup, and it didn't taste nearly as good as the one you made for me on my 13th birthday. In fact, it tasted like saltwater. Do you still make tomato soup where you are? Well, hope so, since I was always an insane fan for your cooking.

Anyways, I miss you. Is there nearly as awesome of a person as me there? If there is, let me know. I'll go beat them up.

Tears are really weird things. I finally realized it, after years and years of my life.

This whole thing was inspired by seeing Misaki cry tears of pain when I accidentally dropped a heavy book on her. I realized that the actual dropping of tears is fast, even temporary, but the pain you feel when you shed them remain in your soul forever. Which leads me to the ultimate question: why did I cry when you left, if it didn't help at all?

I guess it's a natural reaction to sorrow, or when you lose your best friend, but I didn't feel the least bit better when I cried. I wanted you back too badly, even trying to deceive myself that you never left in the first place. I kept thinking of you and the days we spent together, being two dumb idiots who believed that all we needed was each other.

I guess I missed you, beyond comparison, sitting in the silence of the room that you used to be in, wondering whether you and I would ever be reunited. The feeling only intensified since the last postcard I wrote to you.

Tears really are bittersweet. You never really can tell whether they're pouring down your cheeks because you're happy, or because you're sad. I suppose I'm glad you're gone to a place where you can be happy eternally, but I'm also sad you're not with me now.

…Never mind that. That was unlike me. Haha.

Anyways, I'm running out of ink, so I'm going to stop soon. Oh, by the way, sorry if the brightness of the red pen kind of hurts your eyes. The store clerk swore it wasn't going to be so crimson, but I suppose there had to be an explanation as to why it was so cheap.

A small note:

There was a huge storm today. It made me wonder if you were okay over there. And the other postcards I sent; were they okay? Are you okay? I hope so.

I went and checked whether the postcards were there, and they weren't. Maybe they got washed away in the whole storm?

Maybe you came to pick it up? Haha.

Of course not.

This is it.

You know, they say that every person dies twice.

The first is when their body decays in the soil. Well, that's not possible for you, because we cremated you, but when your heart stops, I guess it's pretty much a given that you're dead.

The second time is when you're thought about for the very last time. Haha.

I've enjoyed writing these to you like hell. But there's a difference- a small line- between dreaming and pretending. I'd crossed that line the first moment I picked up my pen to start this postcard business. For the time I've been writing these, I've only managed to convince my deluded mind that you're alive.

In actuality, I'll never be able to know if you've had kids, or are married now. I'll never be able to drop off my kids to their first day of school with my best friend by my side. And pretending will only come to hurt me more in the end.

So this is the last one I'll write to you. I'll bury it with you and your crazy ashes, and you, up there in the sky, can laugh at me for being so strange again.

I want to thank you, for all of the years you lived with me physically, and in my heart. For all of the times you stopped me from making bad decisions, and for all of the times we helped each other out of tough situations. But most importantly, I want to thank you for being my friend.

I miss you until the end of time, Kaname. You're my best friend for life.

And if it means you'll live forever, I'll think about you 60 minutes every hour, 24 hours a day until I join you.

X x X x X x X x X x X x

P.S. Today, there are a lot of stars in the sky. One of them is you, I know it.

So stop watching over me, you little weirdo. I'll be fine. ;)

The End

Notice the 'red pen'? Every time you pick one up, I hope you think of me! :)

Love you all forever and ever,

Maria

And I'm out. :)