The Final Goodbye

I sit on the second floor of the Starbucks overlooking Shibuya crossing. The seating here is always closely coveted and hard to capture, especially on a night like tonight. I stare down at the people below, perpetually moving, the lights bright and flickering from all directions, the sounds muted by the glass but still present in my memory as I watch. I came here to watch, having arrived at Shibuya with no destination, just an ache to SEE. After two years, I still feel blind and empty; I want more; to see more, to experience more, to fill myself full with memories. My eyes flicker toward every movement with a sort of desperate fascination. A peculiar longing fills me, a hunger I can never sate. I watch with a desire that just by watching I can soak it up through my skin, that the experience with permeate throughout me and thus, somehow, last...

I can't let it go, I can't leave, the hunger filling me still, still so unsated... and yet my fingers cannot grasp the threads of time, the red silk fabric of it slipping slowly through my fingers like kimono threads...

Even just writing this, I feel a little less empty... That even this is some proof of my existence here.

It's time to go.