Fictional Spring · Dazaiosamu
Wednesday Evening
Today I did not see that scrawny black cat.The tulips on the table;in my heart, an empty place.People coming off work rode bicycles flecked with rust,through the leisure of this evening,returning with hearts full of cares.The gecko in a crevice by the west wall outside the buildingslipped off alone into the rustling depths of the miscanthus grass. She turned on the light and leaned sideways into dreamland.The last few lines on that page read:“Stars of alien substance have a long while yet before they light;we, with nothing to do, have a long while yet before we sleep.” The laundry basket was piled with clothes as ordinary as any in this season.After all, the front-door handle had not been wiped quite clean.Lying on the slightly stained floor,I looked out at the spring beyond the windowand suddenly tears streamed down my face,as if I had experiencedat this moment, beneath the warm, damp roots of a tree,that spring cicada’s tangled feelings.