08 May 2018

It was one of those typical hot days in Osaka, Japan when summer was at its peak. A tall, lean figure had parked himself on an old bench underneath a lone apple tree, which was at the center of a vast pasture bounded by weathered rocks and rusted fence. As the wind rustled through the tree leaves, swaying the grasses back and forth, the cicadas chirped in the background, the sun at its harshest, the boy opened what he had been holding in his sweaty palms for the past few minutes. He turned to the first page of a battered diary and it was marked.

11 July 2011

"When I saw you that day, under that apple tree, when I spoke to you for the first time, when I met you in the summer, that day was probably..................."