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Why does the night have to be so beautiful? As I walk through the night, I remember what Mitsutsuka said to me. “Because at night, only half the world remains.”
You’re right, Mitsutsuka. It isn’t anything, but it’s so beautiful that I could cry.
What I saw in the reflection was myself, in a cardigan and faded jeans, at age thirty-four. Just a miserable woman, who couldn’t even enjoy herself on a gorgeous day like this, on her own in the city, desperately hugging a bag full to bursting with the kind of things that other people wave off or throw in the trash the first chance they get.
the city streets full of people—people waiting, the people they were waiting for, people out to eat together, people going somewhere together, people heading home together.
I was so scared of being hurt that I’d done nothing. I was so scared of failing, of being hurt, that I chose nothing. I did nothing.
Will you walk through the night with me? And will you listen to that song with me, just the two of us?
