Steeped in liquid sugar from disposable pails, this month bled through slowly like melting ice, sticky and half awake. Being, as it was, too hot to turn on my computer or do anything besides sleep in my sunny second floor bedroom, insects screaming into my smoldering windows warned I was sliding out of contact with loved ones and roommates.
Kanji characters: my only comfort in the air conditioned restaurant at midnight. I hold them while listening to an old lady having a conversation with the people inside her heart. I know I belong there, next to her, reading words like 解放 (liberation) and 放送 (broadcasting) under my breath while smokers stare at me through the glass partitions. It doesn't matter what they think; they are the ones who are wasting their time.
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1 comment:
... but september jubilant is now here!
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