i woke up this morning in a ghost state. i was living in the memory of japan. how crisp and clean the air was. how hard it was getting out of bed with you.
while you were holding me. you told me this culture yearns to feel each season.
i can still feel those cold moments. a walk in the snow to a staircase temple. an early breakfast while i fumbled with a stove i did not know.
i’m right back in that moment. this is what death must feel like. hanging so desperately on the smells of the chilled mountain air that only you can remember.
my grief rests in losing all of my seasons of you.
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