Story Photographs

One of these days

One of these daysThe old pattern will breakA new pattern will hatchJust like Spring sprouts from WinterAfter all the patient preparation One of these daysA breakthrough will happenA new way will appear before youJust like the light spreads across the skyAfter a long winter night One of these daysIt will happenAll effortlesslySmoothlyAs if taking a […]

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A boy with marmots

In this memory, I’m nine years old. One hot summer day, I’m sitting in the hallway playing with marbles. Next to me is my father, sprawled on the floor reading a book. We are both waiting for our guests to arrive. Today, my father’s good old friend will be visiting us from Tokyo with his

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Solar Eclipse

When I was about twelve, a solar eclipse crossed Japan including my hometown. Though partial, it was said to be significant enough for people to see the sky darken for a short period of time. That morning, I was studying at my dining table sitting next to my mother when the phone rang. It was

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Common Sense

Something unknownSomething unspokenSomething incomprehensibleA mysterious entity it is Chasing it is likeCatching a cloud in the skyGrasping it is likeFinding the end of the rainbow Everybody must have itBut nobody has ever seen itEverybody talks about itBut nobody can explain it Common sense, are you there?Your presence is requestedIt is time you come out of

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The Little Footprints

When I was about seven, a new bookstore opened near my house. In the suburb where we lived, we didn’t have many bookstores, most of which were secondhand, so, the news of a new firsthand bookstore sparked interest in all of us. One weekend afternoon, shortly after the store opened, my family made our first

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Breakfast in Rome

6 am. The alarm goes off, and I slowly get out of bed and walk to the window. On the other side of the street, a coffee bar is already open, spilling a bright yellow light onto the still dark street. Another day is beginning. After half an hour of stretching exercises and meditation, I

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Wall

There is a tiny house on the hilltopA girl used to live thereHappy and contentUntil one dayAn attack started Arrows showered on her houseFrom where, she had no ideaBut they kept comingDamaging her houseInjuring her She had to do something, anythingShe built walls around her houseBut the arrows kept comingFearful and panickedShe ran to the

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Two Pairs of Feet

In this memory, I’m five years old. One winter morning, I find my mother in the tiny balcony of our half-dilapidated apartment, hanging blankets on the railing. She does this whenever it’s sunny outside, but today is the first time I’m intrigued by it. As I gaze at the thick blankets swaying loosely in the

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