My Story

A photograph from before the world ended turned up from the back of a drawer. In it, there is a me who is smiling innocently. In other words, this is what happened: I was dumped. The girl who is next to me in the photo is not here. No, she must exist somewhere in this world, still breathing, eating, drinking, and sleeping right now. Perhaps with someone other than me. Well, that is fine. She no longer appears in my story. Therefore, there is nothing to say about her. One cannot talk about a person who does not exist. Besides, thinking about her makes me sad and makes me want to cry.
Nevertheless, that photograph definitely existed. In it, I am grinning foolishly. What is so funny? You idiot. Stop grinning. Look at reality properly. I want to say that to the me in the photo. And then, I stare at the girl next to that grinning me. She looks happy, too. Doesn't she look happy? Doesn't she look blissful? What went wrong? I almost think that, but I firmly suppress that feeling. Thinking about such things is a waste. It is all over, and worrying about things that are over is the height of futility. In the first place, the girl in the photo is not her. It is merely an image created by a mixture of several types of ink. It is a stain of ink. It only seems like her because I perceive it as her. That is not her.
Then, what was she? Was she her as a physical substance? That is one way to look at it. However, was that everything? Is it right to reduce everything to that? She is the girl as I perceived her, and she is her as the sum total of the phenomena that appeared before me. If that is the case, how is she different from the ink stain? Are they not the same in that she is the girl I perceived? Perhaps she never existed at all.
“What kind of stupid things are you saying?”
“Whoa!”
“I exist just fine. The idea that I might only exist inside your head is incredibly ridiculous.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I came out because you were saying stupid things.”
“You don't actually exist.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Prove your own existence.”
Let's stop dealing with such a fool. To the person reading this, you know that I exist without me having to prove it, right?
Hey, don't talk to the reader on your own. This is my story.
Sigh.
What are you sighing about?
That selfish side of yours is just like you.
Thanks for that.
That was sarcasm.
I know.
Good grief.
This is my story that I am writing.
No, it's not.
Huh?
This is my story that I am writing. You don't actually exist. You are just an existence I created to kill time.
Then.
Are you sad?
So I wasn't dumped, then.
Yeah.
I see, that's good.
He muttered, and then he vanished.
You don't exist either!
That's right.
She also vanished. Or rather, no one exists in the first place.

No.639