wall

It’s painted in the most common, ordinary white. An old painting hangs on it. Her world, like her room, is divided in two by a wall. Even in a world so effervescent, she is the same as me, longing for the passionate heat of the sun but hesitating in her tightly wrapped cocoon.

bed

The soft bedding smells like dead mites and dust under the sun. When she lays down, it feels like melting, or drifting. She stares at the ceiling, trying and failing to figure out how to become a magnificent adult, until her consciousness also drifts into haze.

pillow

Rather than resting her head on it, she prefers to hug her big, soft pillow in order to fantasize – about him. Hugging him probably doesn't feel this good, but in hindsight, this moment is bittersweet.

old cloths

She’s already a high school student, yet she still wears clothes from a few years ago. Her mother said not to waste them if she can still wear them. She secretly longs for the beautiful coats that the seniors wear to school, but if she were to wear something like that she would feel too bashful, already used to the security of being behind the times.

drawing

She doesn’t know how to draw. She is very different from me. Softer than me, and more timid. She never wanted the visions I so desired, those most beautiful parts in the peripheries of dreams – desiring, without ever possessing.