Strange Weather in Tokyo

by Hiromi Kawakami

I never gave any thought to the fact that they were leading the same kind of complicated life as I was.

Didn’t we have anything to talk about? There must have been something. But as I tried to think of what to say, my mind went blank. You’d think we’d be close, but it was precisely because we were close that we couldn’t reach each other. Forcing myself to make conversation felt like standing on a cliff, peering over the edge, about to tumble down headfirst.

I had a habit of acting as though I were having a conversation with someone beside me – with the me who was not really right there beside me – as if to validate these random effervescences.