Full of opulence and history, beneath my feet lays the great mysteries of you, of yesterday, of me and of the Tokyo streets that filled us with warmth. Territories divided, crystalline and meticulous, our shivers burst through the opaque admissions that hold each of us prisoner. (Slowly, but surely, our eyes peered into one another’s without fail.) Of tranquil factories that churn out technical specifications for tomorrow, and as vultures reign on our misgivings and take advantage of the milliseconds in between inaccurate thoughts, I stood still and awaited the moment.
Time moves in a fashion that isn’t quite circular, but maybe a little perplexed by its own power, unable to contain its own joy for what it can accomplish by taking a breath a little faster than it should. But he and I understood the crevasse between you and me, and that it was the Montague to his Capulet who was choosing to keep us incorrupt. Support then, I received, as with that (and for that), I fought the space between us and won, for once, and eventually brought to my personal pedestal a victory whose prize was you.