Chapter 1:


A Place of Our Own

PrologueBookmark here

There is a light that floods inside, filling the walls and every corner of my bedroom.
The clock on the bedside goes off and its screeching slices the silence that permeates and hangs thickly on the window by the bed. Looking out the window I can see the fog, fog thick as snow, I am tempted to believe that I can slice it with a knife. It reminds me of being lost and I find myself thinking about the days in which he and I were together. Bookmark here

Yearning and missing. Bookmark here

It hurts; my broken heart, the scattered pictures on my floor, that one letter he gave to me before we made that choice. I can't bury this love no matter what I do and this is because he was the one. The one to show me what pain was and I felt it through his embraces, his kisses and the promises we giggled to one another, each night, under the blankets with a flashlights in our hands as we read the short stories he loved to write. Bookmark here

I loved reading and he loved writing and everything that came from his pen I ate up, I believed it all, but I realize now that just because the words are in writing, it doesn't mean they were in his heart. I covered my own eyes, I played blind when I saw everything and yet it hurt him more. We let the silence build and that was our division; the lies that we acted upon and the truth that we swallowed. My world left me behind and it feels so unreal, this body of mine, the one he used to touch every morning as I entwined one of his hands through mine. Bookmark here

As I sit up, I look around the room with its lacquered walls of grey, the empty wooden chair barely hanging on and his desk in the far corner of the room. Placed five feet away from my bed, and yet it engulfs and reaches me as I look at it from my pillow. All this furniture was his; a parting gift because saying goodbye would be to painful, it means not crossing paths, it means the end. I came to Japan trying to confirm my love, but it amounted to nothing.
I can't blame him or me, it was me after all who flew with my wax wings towards a sun that would burn me down into the deep waters. All that's left of our story are shattered fragments that I can't let go of; pieces of me. 金継ぎ。 Bookmark here

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