I can only tell youwhat I saw that morningbeneath the shadowof a building so tallit seemed to hang from the sky.I had to lean backto…
The sound of the wind, And it dances again.The murmur that springs, Is the music of things.
I want to be meaningfulI want the years to feel rough in my handsWithout weighing down on my face.
Sōji and Wakaba barely made it past the closing doors of the subway train.
“So we meet on Friday?” I asked.
“Hey, listen up,” whispered the male classmate who sat in front of me. “Fukada likes to sleep around.”
“I’m forty,” I thought aloud.
Mrs. Sada was an ordinary English teacher. One who had a traditional appearance: bob cut, white shirt, black blazer. One who used everyday…