Long, long has Takashi practiced setting bitter lyrics to cheerful music. The way these words blend intense desire with a similarly intense desire to deny that desire crushes me.
Anyone who has been in Japan — or who grew up in New York City, as I did — or, for that matter, ever watched a slice-of-life anime — will know about ramune.
:::
In a train station
out in the middle of nowhere,
we're taking shelter in the shade.
I watch you drain
your ramune.
(Isn't it empty?) A line
(Isn't it lonely?) of cold sweat
(Isn't it sad?) trails down
(Isn't it empty?) the nape
(Isn't it lonely?) of your neck.
You place the empty blue ramune bottle
against your sunburned skin.
"Ah!! So cold!"
you say, and then laugh
like a spoiled child.
The way your chest is heaving,
soaked in discolored light,
I could see it
even if I were standing
fifty miles away.
(Isn't it empty?) The little finger
(Isn't it lonely?) of my left hand
(Isn't it sad?) hurts
(Isn't it empty?) where you
(Isn't it lonely?) bit it.
Sitting in the worn-out train,
trying to focus on nothing
except the very act of sitting,
I feel the alternating currents
pass between us
every time
that we bump knees.
(Isn't it empty?) The scenery
(Isn't it lonely?) that flies past
(Isn't it sad?) blows
(Isn't it empty?) the smiles
(Isn't it lonely?) on our faces
(Isn't it sad?) into pieces.
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