Itsuki and I

This story is a shovel. I wanted to dig around his roots, pop them up, and transplant him to the center of my understanding, but I know that he will always be just enough off-kilter.

[insert wabi sabi]

I remember when his way of seeing the world charmed me.

"The eight-lane freeways are a bridge and a wall," Itsuki told me once, when he was still trying to teach me how to see. "Even in the standstill traffic jam, cars are always running. You can hear the low rumble: still is still moving."

Another time, he said, "The sunsets are beautiful here because this smog. Pollution makes them so red. Even in destruction there can be beauty."

[insert mono no aware]

"What is the first thing you remember thinking was beautiful?" he asked, pouring me a cup of matcha. I thought of shadows cast by glass buildings. Cracks in the cement. Disrupted reflections in brand new guardrails.

"I'm sure it was a dandelion," I lied, "when the wind blew the seed ball apart before I could cast off my first wish."

[insert nekojita]

Outside a streetlight flickered on. The hills loomed like knuckles. I would                                                if I could. I would search this city until                                                Itsuki and                        him in me, me in him.

[insert elegant confusion]