Hiromi Nakajima

Broken Message


I was told that tree leaves can deliver a message to anyone you like no matter how far away, ever since then they have become a secret post. One day I looked up and asked one to send a message to someone that had slipped away from my lips, with no expectation for a reply, seriously though no offense, the trees never do.

Yet they certainly bring a sort of satisfaction to me, with the slightest possibility that the message could be delivered through their roots, rather than with leaves, because it’s more substantially connectable, whereas the leaves seem ethereal in regard to delivering since there is never a real connection to any celestial verge. In that sense. likewise I looked up to the clouds, moving, modestly, changing their curious shapes in the blue vault of parallel horizons.

Birds were taking off skirting above my head. Then a few drops of white smeared a right shoulder and left eye. Damn it, I tried to blink, once and a few more times till sight became clearer but it stuck harder and vision stayed weird with obstacles.

I missed the moment when the clouds lost their form, now the birds are gone too and the vault is not blue anymore.  Buds have bloomed, I missed all of them, the continuum of things unknowingly, there are too many, I can’t cope with these unfathomable observations.

​Abruptly, the sound of birds fluttering wings grazed my ear and gave me the creeps. I hate birds. Their pseudo-intellectual eyes are gross, so tiny but scrutinizing me with the contemptuous glance that would break my intimation and I forgot the message, the roots, the clouds and all that.

It’s forgettable in the first place, that I knew it would be lost since there are as many replies, they cancel each other without distracting intention.

​That is what secures my life peacefully.