No one could say how long that life would last. Whatever has form can disappear in an instant.

What I want is for the two of us to meet somewhere by chance one day, like, passing on the street, or getting on the same bus.

Memory is so crazy! It's like we've got these drawers crammed with tons of useless stuff. Meanwhile, all the really important things we just keep forgetting, one after the other.

The heavy smell of flower petals stroked the walls of my lungs.

Whenever I get into something, I shut out everything else.

So that's how we live our lives. No matter how deep and fatal the loss, no matter how important the thing that's stolen from us--that's snatched right out of our hands--even if we are left completely changed, with only the outer layer of skin from before, we continue to play out our lives this way, in silence. We draw ever nearer to the end of our allotted span of time, bidding it farewell as it trails off behind. Repeating, often adroitly, the endless deeds of the everyday. Leaving behind a feeling of immeasurable emptiness.

Gazing at the rain, I consider what it means to belong, to become part of something. To have someone cry for me.