Sometimes,
I have a distant dream.
Back in high school.
The rain,
a library,
books,
four pairs of shoes under a table.
Sand
and solitude.
Fireworks and ash.
Menthol cigarettes.
A flash of pink,
so quick
I almost think
I imagined it.
But,
it always
tugs at my lips.
My suit feels rough.
I walk through cubicles.
The smell of printer ink.
Floor polish and coffee.
I nod politely at everyone.
They do the same.
I sit back in my office,
eyes closed.
Memories
swimming like koi.
Sometimes,
my friends ask me why
I'm always looking somewhere.
Far off into the distance.
I can't really answer.
...
Cherry blossoms again.
Every damn year.
Tokyo is just like that.
Pink,
everywhere.
A field of petals,
coating asphalt
and traffic lines.
Sometimes,
beer helps wash that
aching
nostalgia
away.
Those halcyon days.
Sometimes it makes it worse.
Today,
my feet take me somewhere.
I just walk aimlessly.
AC units dripping.
Drip, drip.
Rusty bicycles.
Students walking in groups.
Laughing,
talking about nothing.
Neon billboards,
too bright even in daylight.
Heels clacking at stone tile.
Ambulance sirens.
Suits everywhere,
even on a Saturday.
Coffee shops packed to the brim
University students
tapping away at their laptops.
Some pop song blares
from a passing delivery truck.
A stray cat nuzzles me,
curious at first.
Then scampers away.
Sometimes, I miss the cicadas.
A bridge now.
Not like the one in Hoshizora.
But still...
It reminds me of the old days.
Blossoms float in the river,
slowly,
aimlessly.
Taken away by the gentle
current.
A hint.
The smell of summer.
A peel.
Zest.
Sugar.
Soft.
Warm.
Bitterness.
Sweetness.
Two halves make a whole.
I turn.
Look.
An empty space.
Somehow,
the shape of her.
Filled by twirling blossoms.
I smile.
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...
