I have written a story. Something that would stand to be called a short story. As the title suggests, I have abandoned it a while ago. Here’s a little part of it, until I finish writing it someday and post it to the world
The weather in Tokyo in early January is the most soul piercing. No matter how many shirts, pants, socks or blanks I wore, the coldness will sweep into me. Penetrating all the layers of clothes I wore. As if punishing me for what I did. My whole body ache. Yesterday I stayed up until almost 2am, filling myself with nostalgia, watching all Ghibli studio movies. Reminding myself of my childhood. Of home. I lost count of the times I have watched this particular movie. Whisperer of the heart. I slept on the couch, wrapped with all the blanket I had in my apartment. Whoever thought that I would ever own this much of blankets. Back home, where we would had three seasons of summer and one winter, owning a blanket was sort of a joke. Who would own such thing in a hot country?
Its still dawn. I didn’t close the curtain yesterday. One of the things I love about Tokyo is that even though it’s a bustling city, there are still areas where it surprises you of how quite it can be. The beautiful lights of the city illuminate is simply gorgeous. Closing the curtains is such a waste. Mottainai. The sun has hasn’t rise yet. A faint change in the sky is occurring. Slowly and gently, changing its colors. Welcoming the sun. The blankets are warm. How can I wake and leave those blankets when it feels like someone is hugging me, holding me tight. Next to the closed laptop screen, my coffee mug stands there, filling the room with a faint coffee smell.