It was nothing as sweet as nostalgia or a longing for bygone days, just a constant absence from the present, an anger toward the future. I was always lost at a point in the past which would never go anywhere now it had gone, but has time ended? Has it just stopped? Will it someday rewind and start again? Or will I be shut out from time for eternity? I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.

With my eyes shut, the noise of the city lost its place of origin and redirected itself, until I no longer knew if the sounds were coming in at me or if I was moving toward the sounds. I felt as if I were at one with them, sucked up into the air, disappearing without a trace.

To speak is to stumble, to hesitate, to detour and hit dead ends. To listen is straightforward. You can always just listen.

Kōichi and Setsuko had both been taken in their sleep—at night, when I laid down in my bed, I felt a chill over my body, my saliva felt sticky, my tongue sour. All the nerves running through my body were tensed, and I didn’t feel ready to sleep. Realizing that my hands were becoming numb, I closed my eyes and tried to calm my breathing, but having my eyes closed scared me. I was not afraid of ghosts. Nor was I afraid of death or dying. I was afraid of living this life not knowing when it might end. It did not seem possible to resist this weight pressing down on my entire body, nor to bear it.