Faded

6. Calligraphy of feelings | 感情書道

Izumi:

We continued to walk from the street of dolls in the direction of your apartment. From time to time a police patrol passed, neon signs flickered palely, accompanying all this with an electric crackle, you sometimes screwed up your eyes or covered them with your palm. They were too sensitive, I saw how tears flow down your pale cheekbones, the harsh light brought you pain, on the contrary, I liked the sparkling neon of Tokyo. It seems that then I already had a feeling that soon I would find myself in a foggy darkness, where the only colored element would be blue butterflies hovering over the dark forest grass, and therefore I appreciated every moment spent in the city. You brought me home for the first time. Once in this small dark space, I seemed to have crossed some line of our relationship. As if we had become closer, as if you would reveal to me some secret that no one else knows.

Hideo:

My apartment is a small studio on the fourth floor. Creative chaos.  All the walls are pasted over with drawings, painted with hieroglyphs. Pills are scattered everywhere.

"I practiced calligraphy," I tried to justify myself.

Didn't talk about that.  Again I had to make up stupid stories about how I suffer from allergies to everything. Or maybe my disease is really just an allergy? Allergy to life. You are uncertain, but look around with interest. I am excited. I have long wanted to invite you to my place, but still did not dare. My little isolated and wild world. You're the only person I'll show it to. 

Izumi:

On the bookshelf there is a small glass statue of Buddha, which shimmers softly in different colors - as it turned out later, this is a homemade lamp. How beautiful. There are two jars on the table - one contains fireflies, the other contains a large blue butterfly. It is still alive.

"Where did you get this one?" I asked, looking at it.

"There are a lot of them near Okutama Falls. Different colors," you answered calmly.

I have never seen such huge butterflies.

"We can go there somehow. Look, you smiled."

I nodded thoughtfully, then looked back at the jar.

"Why are you keeping them here? They will also die."

"I like to collect beautiful things," you answered calmly.

"But these are not things, but living beings," then my unconscious hypocrisy turned on. I have never been a vegan, I have never advocated for animals, but for some reason I felt very sorry for this butterfly and fireflies. You sat on the edge of the bed, continuing to bore me with a wild look.

"You're right. I made a reservation. I like to collect beautiful living creatures," you said coldly.

For some reason, I felt uncomfortable being in this apartment. I went out to the balcony. The cool night air revived me a little. The street was very noisy. Bars, clubs, haunts with prostitutes in school uniforms, the constant flashing of neon signs. 

Now I understand why there were no lamps in your apartment. You simply don't need them. There was enough light from the outside world. 

You went to the balcony after me.

"It's noisy in here, isn't it?" You sighed, trying to spare both of us an awkward silence.

"I thought you liked living in silence. Even our house is quieter," I noticed.

"I like silence. It's just that it can easily absorb the mind. The society is sobering, holding back something inside me, even if I'm not very comfortable among people," you said, but I didn't understand any of this.

"What are you most afraid of?" You suddenly asked, looking at me.

I looked down from the balcony and then back up at the night sky. Police sirens could be heard somewhere in the distance. The plane was flying. The whores were laughing at the entrance to the bar along with the mid-level yakuza.

"I'm afraid of death, I guess," I answered without thinking too much. You smiled, but your smile was kind. The neon signs continued to flicker, throwing their light into your irritated eyes, making it seem that you were not a person, but a robot. For a moment, you went back to the apartment, and returned with that jar in your hands. Butterfly inside beat against the glass. You took off the lid and released it.We remained standing on the balcony and watching as it takes off uncertainly and dissolves in the colored haze of Tokyo at night.

"It won't survive," I said.

"No one will survive," you replied and covered my hand with yours.