Prose by Naoko Fujimoto/
Poem by Sei Shōnagon
A wall is something I build when I see you, it does not matter what type of seal. I draw one, too—a silk curtain, a paper screen—and close it. Shut it hard. I hate the noise of unfitted sliding doors. I don’t track where you walk from corridor to room. I do not want to sink into your smell. I refuse your voice. I have enough—
I didn’t know who I was
where my heart belonged
but I made a decision
not to meet you again; maybe I was short-tempered,
I was wrong—
perhaps
I might
like you.
warenagara/waga kokoro o mo/shirazu shite/mata aimizi to/chikai keru kana
我ながらわが心をも知らずしてまた逢ひ見じと誓ひけるかな
清少納言