朝日 (asahi = morning sun).
Led against the beams, each creaks with every turn and adjustment of one’s body. The song is a melody repeated often, however with the cool night air filtering through the open window that appears to tower above, the space devoid of atmosphere oppresses the spirit within. Though travellers surround me, the subtle sense of desertion creeps across from the sub to the conscious self that lies here waiting.
Mother says one is full of life.
Father harps endless poems of how the world loves the way I am.
However, it does not seem to escape one the bleeding of innards and torment of mind.
Perfection is what one needs in times where the floor is a great friend to have, yet, such a notion is not good enough; it does not suffice as a cure for all ills.
A knock from next door reminds me of the happiness of another life. Hear them speak, laugh, love each other from midnight to sunrise.
For, as the sun sets upon the city, the revealing of a colourful multitude that dances with its entwined arrays occurs, thus setting in stone the inevitable fate that a cruel 朝日 shall reveal her ugly face once more. And so, until the time comes, one shall continue to make the floor boards chirp, and remain so far removed from those one yearns to cling onto.
. . .Thank you. . .