A Chestful of Butterflies

Once again, the words have hidden behind my lips. Nevertheless, I saw them last Sunday fluttering around the house, melting around the inarizushi and chasing the doggie in the living room. Words, colorful and clumsy, filled up the house that evening and invaded the streets of suburban Yokohama.

Now I'm back in my lonely room, silent, monochrome. I suppose I won't see them again until sometime far, far away from today.