I don’t know if you would ever get to read this, and even if you would, I don’t know if it would be worthy. However, I felt a need to write down this frank feeling in words. It doesn’t mean I have something to be understood. This is an enumeration of words that’s pretty vague, and words don’t mean anything.
But if you would, like you always did, if you would come closer and listen. If you would read between the lines, retrogress to unfold the origin of these words. Then you would find much of the truth. What have always been here but haven’t got a chance to be shown. What haven’t been noticed. What have been ignored. It’s all up to you how they would be found out, I hope you wouldn’t hold a grudge though, well, people changes and I would understand.
Why I do this in English not Japanese. A famous japanese female author said, she has a completely different personality when she writes in English from when she does in Japanese. I think I know it. I feel the heart of mine, which is pretty messed up with whole lot of feelings, is always to be shown in disorder as it is by Japanese, but English can make it seem to be a bit more like orderly, like I’m observing myself from afar. I’ve got a luck that you better than me know English.
The thing I have to put on the top is that more than anyone I’ve met, probably plus I will, I am trusting in you. Now and after, ever since when we met for the first time. People changes but the fact that I, like all of the other lot of people, am your believer, is never going to disappear. It’d cause you a pain sometimes, but I think it’s the best thing I’ve got from whole of this, because I’d never known that I could count on someone like this.
The next thing is it was totally romantic. You shoulda known that I’m a romanticist as hell, and a true romanticist surely can only be a petty cheap novel writer. Only logical people can behave romance. I mean you are the logical. You go emotional in a logical way, go absorbed in a logical way. The basis of your logic is your gifted sense. In this world full of the fakes, you’ve got the talent to pick up the reals without fail. While a lot of us is reaching for the wrongs, and not a little of us is going to die without having any of the rights, you never get to have a mistake. That’s why I know it wasn’t wrong that you’ve chose me and I’ve reacted. Though there ain’t anything meant to be, this can’t be wrong to be right. I said I’ve reacted, now I suppose it was me actually got adored for the first. A resonance needs a first tone and it could be the sound I started. Could be just our frequency tuned by coincidence, but anyway, the thing that’s begun like that was romantic enough for me to mark here.
To define it in a word, it was a catalyst. Being with you was a stimulus. I was always in the flask. You added there your charms and put it on the burner to warm it up. I wonder if the one who picked the phrase a chemical’s react to describe this could be thinking like this. In time there appeared a sedimentation. You filtered and refined the crystal. In the end I became a whole new product, and it happened again and again. We came across the same ground on the path of chemistry. In that lab, we never actually had an experiment together, however, every time I found a bin with a label which you must have written, it happened. The thing is that I can distinguish your letters.
The thing is it was full of the lessons. I don’t know if these are the lessons they say, but I’ve learnt a lot. Like discovering a butterfly of a new kind. Like developing a brand new drug. Like actually seeing that the earth is round, feeling it’s rolling slowly. Like coming to an unknown crossroad. You walked ahead to look back and watch me tarrying, looking the other ways all the time. You let me go ahead to find me coming undone and carry. And sometimes when we went the same stride, you took my hand and listened to my long story never short.
The thing is that it was so scary. In the night I couldn’t sleep thinking about the next morning. As I was going out I was wishing the time just freeze. When I got to the station at last I dreamed the train would stop for some reason. When I walked through the ticket counter and went outside to find your motorcycle„ I wanted to die. Then I saw you with a plastic bag hanging from your hand, I wanted to come running to you, wanted you to come to me at the same time. Remember you sometimes laughed asking what’s wrong with me, now that was because I had this strangest feelings. When we were riding, it felt like we could go anywhere, and when we entered your room, I never wannted the door to open again. It was so scary how I wanted so much.
A memory comes up, at each song, at each book, at each film, but you won’t at any of them. You always come up at some incoherent situation. When I’m in the tub, I feel you sitting on the seat. Like that song. Actually we did spend many nights like that. When I’m having a walk, I feel you pointing a cat hidden under the car. When I’m eating, I feel you about to say yum. Right now I feel you looking in the screen from behind my back, like I did when you were busy working facing the laptop. The thing I mean is you were the action. I remember that book again. It’s not the thing like that.
There was a strange place. Like two neighbors happened to meet on the street, they got the places to go back of each own. Visiting the houses of each other for quite some times and talking on the phone by the windows of each own very often, yet neither of them can’t leave their own sweet homes. I know you would. I know you went seeing some new ones. However, the furniture you chose were all too latest or classic for me that I couldn’t manage to cut cake by myself with the tiny little knife, and terribly worried at one thought of dropping a crumb on the floor. The thing is that it was not an exception.
Yet too familiar. Like the twins meeting each other for the first time in a decade. Like they’ve got the way to communicate which nobody else understands. I knew there too well. Though I had had some times with some others before, there was the very first bing. Like a film with lots of homage. I thought I know it. Even if blue on someone’s eyes were someone’s red and they both called it green, every time you put your eyes on mine, I surely knew we’d got a same color on our retinas. The thing is it was not just another color.
The thing is it is a scar. You tried to fit it in me, sometimes you tried forcibly squeeze it into me, but after all, the more I front, the more got conciliated. The way you did was like cutting me open to have an operation, not like scratching the skin where the blood just barely dried. You sew it up and the scar that’s left was showing that I survived, which was very brave and honorable sign. While I cut you on your back again and again, used a cruel scheme to stretch it, you said it was the line on the timeline which parted the before and the after. Goddamn poet, I liked it.
The thing is that it’s been a brilliant evening as sin. This early morning I phoned and you picked it like you were supposed to. These 12 hours so far, I’m so glad being able to reminisce it all in the same room you are sleeping now. What should I do? If I’m feeling too much and if later it all turns out as a joke? 12 hours. We’ve done nothing, but I’m feeling as if we’ve done something great. It was unnaturally smooth.
Hard-Fi. A ticket to ride. Riverside in Kyoto. Many corners in Tokyo. Your floor. Drinks and cigarettes. Flowers and a pile of stick-its. The existence of the absence. The thing is I remember every pieces.
The thing is it’s never gonna go wearing thin. At least mine is never. Will you tell a story to someone someday, that just this thing happened, as just another story of nothing? If you’d read this, will you end it with an acceptance for the rest of the lucks I’d stolen, for them to come back to you? And go on forget.
When you wake up, will you see it again? Am I going to explain? That I’m such a chaos, I don’t have any clues, and I don’t know what to do? Will you shake hands with me one more time? Will you tell me another story? The one I don’t know yet? Will you walk with me? On the corner of a street, will you make me say I don’t wanna go home? Will you tell me to go home? The thing is there is no way out of this.
I know everything you wanted me to say. I know you never asked because I didn’t wanna be asked. But the thing is clear that I’ve got a feeling, finally I admit it, the thing is I did and maybe that’s all I need to say. I did, boy, and I do.