A dark gloom fills my trashed, sad excuse for an office as I stare blankly at the empty piece of paper in front of me. On my right, a once-warm and merry cup of tea sits untouched. With a few subtle flicks, the pen in my right hand rotates effortlessly around my fingers.

Twirl.

Twirl.

Twirl.

I repeat in my head until I finally lose control. The pen glides right out of my grip and falls into the crevice behind my desk, out of sight, out of reach— The pen graveyard. Using it as my queue, I lean back deep into my chair, still not leaving my seat. I stare up at the ceiling, playing with my focus like a ten year-old after finally getting ahold of their mom's expensive DSLR. Yet the ceiling remains bare and devoid of life. A few stray marks lay across it. Thoughts had once crossed my mind as to what may have caused them. Cheap, hollow, walls surrounded me-- predictable from a 20,000 yen per month rent. Out my window is a view of the street which at this hour is just as empty as my ceiling.

On the day of my move-in, a fallen lamp had caused damage to the wall, piercing right through it. As I remember, it was like a knife slicing elegantly through a stick of butter.

“This will cost a ton,” I recall telling myself then.

With the assistance of the oh-so-great internet and an oh-so-annoying co-worker, I was able to patch it up, a temporary fix which has lasted half a decade. It’s been years since then, my landlord hasn’t noticed.

The color of the wall has decayed since my arrival. The now off-white no longer matches the painted section I had done before.

“I’ll probably repaint the room later.” My words echoed throughout the room, reverberating within my own ear drums.

Who was I speaking to anyway.

I got up from my chair and walked over to the kitchen.

“Damn it.”

Halfway there, I realized that I had forgotten the item for what was my main reason for getting up in the first place. I retraced my steps and swiftly scooped the cold and lonely cup of tea who had created a home on my desk.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

My short hallway was as bare and naked as usual; tasteless and bland you could say. There were no pictures, no artwork, nothing.

Maybe I should repaint this too.

Yeah right, That’s if I ever even get around to painting my room.

A chill went down my spine as I dumped the wasted tea down my sink. It felt like a reenactment of the Boston Tea Party of 1773, the tea of course being the tea, and the week’s worth of dishes being the ruins of boats and ships.

Snapping back to reality, I lit the stove and placed the kettle over top. As I waited for the familiar whistle, I made my way to the living room which was coincidentally my sleeping space. I tiptoed through the graveyard of newspapers and takeout before finally coming to the conclusion that my TV remote was nowhere to be found. The fact that the whole apartment was poorly lit didn’t help my case either.

“Whatever,” I mumbled once again to I don’t know who.

I pushed my kotatsu to the side, dragging a heap of garbage along with it, thus creating an open space in the middle of the room. In a few swift spins, I pranced around the room, majestically laying out my mattress so it’d be set up for when I’d go to bed. By the time I was finished, the kettle had come to a boil.

I made my way back to the kitchen and fixed myself another cup of tea. Before heading back to my office, I took a peak at the calendar.

“Break’s almost over, huh.” I read my thoughts aloud.

Today was March 25th, 2015, around the time when the cherry blossoms would be in full bloom. Not that it mattered at all. I traced my finger along the worn calendar, slots for each day were empty.

“…But.”

April 16th was marked with several large red circles.

“…It’s coming up soon I guess.”

I made my way back to my office and sat back down in my chair, taking a sip of the hot tea before placing it back in it’s usual nesting space. This time, a new pen in hand, hovering over the blank sheet of paper. To my right, my trash bin was filled with probably over one hundred scrapped copies. Stacked high, it formed a mountain-like shape.

“It’s decided, I shall name you Mt. Scrappy.”

At one point in my life, I may have cared about my impact on the environment. Now, however… My imagination took me further, Mt. Fuji… But made out of trash…

“I’m not getting anywhere with this am I?” I asked out into my still empty room. “Should I take a bath and call it a night?” I waited on no one’s reply.

In the bath, the soapy suds floated atop the warm water. Even though my apartment was a wreck, I was able to bathe every night. Out of habit, but mostly because I couldn’t bear the sticky sensation after a long day of work.

“Maybe I’m looking at this the wrong way?” My voice subsided into the bubbly bath as I toyed with a rubber ducky like a child.

Laying my head back on the cool ceramic tile, I pondered as to why I just couldn’t seem to write it. Before I knew it, I found myself at the starting-line, the beginning. In this case, it would be 15 years ago, my first day of high school.

The first-time I met her.