Banana Yoshimoto

Summer is almost over.

This knowledge left us a little quieter than before. For a moment I found myself wishing, really wishing that Tsugumi’s clothes would never ever dry, that our fire would never die.

For me the summer had been the concentrated essence of everything in the past that I loved and missed.

Over the past few days I’ve written you a hell of a lot of letters. I’d write one and then tear it up and then start writing again. I don’t know why it has to be you, of all people. But for some reason I can’t help thinking that of all the people around me, only you can really read the meanings of the words I use, and understand what I’m saying.