⌠ 1 ⌡
The sky scorches blue.
Not a cloud.
Heatwaves blur into puddles.
But every moment
carries its memory.
I can almost
smell the rain.
Break ends.
School resumes.
Grass grows long and
trees bloom in wind.
It's so green. So bright.
It's blinding.
Since the festival, the cicadas
are like distant waves.
Whispers
brushing my ear.
If I concentrate, I can hear them.
Barely.
Lately, my feet take me outside.
The same zelkova in the courtyard.
Bushes, red lilies.
A ladybug crawls on a petal.
There are marks on the tree.
Faded initials.
The grass under it is soft,
almost damp.
Shade breaks the heat.
I sit there.
Sometimes, I wonder if the world is still
continuing.
But I look at the flowers sway.
Hear voices echo.
People who had a place.
Days drag.
Time passes.
And suddenly,
our color
is only memory.
I'm still there.
Gunpowder
and
sand.
⌠ 2 ⌡
Before this.
Before the library.
Before the deal.
Before meeting them.
Before those golden days.
Before the festival.
Before Hoshizora.
It's all a haze.
YOU ARE READING
wingman | Cell Phone Novel
RomanceSakai Keichi has always been the wingman, the shadow helping his best friend chase girls in an empty cycle of double dates and practiced smiles. He lets himself fade into the background. Until he meets a girl who smells of rain, and for the first t...
