tombo house, the shrine, nakamura camera

Tonight I'm missing Maya. Strange. Isn't it? The way we went our separate ways and me on this evening upon digging up old letters in search of a friend's address stumble upon Maya's scribbling. "Dear Adam, please understand... I don't love you anymore." How does one articulate the end of love? As I ponder here before my keyboard, almost ten years away, I wonder if ever I have crossed her mind in these years, or if I'm even a little tint in the corner of a window, or a pebble, at least? This is the way I like to think. This is why people like me sleep late because thoughts never quite get cleared out, and what scares me is by writing it I might see her in my dream. I did like Maya very much. I really did.

But across the street I see through my window, over in that streetcorner just outside the convenience store, this evening, next to the little phone booth she is standing there waiting for me to wake up, waiting for me to meet her there like I said I would. She is there watching me sleep and how I have forgotten to wake up yet again. Why do you want to talk to me so much? And why is it that I'm afraid to talk to you? Why is it that...