Tuesday, 24 July 2012

on the same page

The bridge. That bridge was where we left each other, never to meet again. The river roared, and the cold wind was like a slap in the face. Amid its vivid thundering, under the sky full of stars, we exchanged a short kiss, and thinking how much fun that winter vacation had been, we parted, smiling. The tinkle of the bell disappeared into the night. Hitoshi and I both cherished that sound.
We had horrible fights and we both had our little outside flings. We suffered from the changing balance between love and desire. Children that we were, we hurt each other many times over. So it isn't that we were always as happy as we were that day; our times together were often painful. Still, it was a good four years, and that day was an unusually perfect one for us, so much so as to make us fearful it would end. Of that day in which everything was just too beautiful in the transparent winter air, what I remember most is the sight, when I turned back to look, of Hitoshi's black jacket melting into the darkness.
That scene is one I cried about over and over again. Or rather, whenever I recalled it, the tears would flow. I would dream of myself crossing the bridge, chasing after him and calling out, "You mustn't go!" In the dream, Hitoshi would smile and say, "I didn't die after all, because you stopped me."

B. Yoshimoto, Kitchen

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