Dear Nobody™,

I used to feel a sting deep behind my eyes whenever I caught sight of the beauty of your fingertips reflected in the train window three seats ahead of me-thinking, this is wrong, this will never reach you. But little by little, that restraint began to feel wasteful, and before I knew it, whenever the chance arose, I found myself poking your soft cheek instead.
After all, that hurdle is far lower than touching those supple fingers.

There are times when I photograph birds I don't even like, watch anime whose highlights I can't quite grasp, or throw myself into making sweets I never intend to eat. Somehow, I think you might laugh. That's all.

The way you laugh out loud without hiding your mouth, the way you resist injustice without concealing your anger-
in those moments, I glimpse your trust in the world, and the safe, warm hometown you so often tell me about.

That realization moves me to tears. Every time I see you express your emotions so honestly, I feel delighted and deeply fulfilled. I think of you as something like a treasure of the world.

On a rare night when we stayed up late, talking our way through the various twists and turns of our lives, we eventually arrived at the subject of the future. What we couldn't tolerate in living together, the kind of person we considered ideal-there were so many overlaps, and I quietly rejoiced.

But when I learned that the life you envisioned included an older man and children, my heart broke out in a cold sweat. I felt on the verge of tears, but I hurriedly put a lid on them.
At five in the morning, thanks to this country's late sunrise, I believe my small effort at concealment succeeded.

I truly adore your innocent, unguarded way of being. That you allow yourself to show such a side, despite how considerate you usually are, makes me happier than anything. And so, it would have been fine to continue as I was-doing nothing, loving you quietly, just as before.

And yet, as the room began to fill faintly with the light of the morning sun, your voice bounced with the words,
"After all, I really like people who like me!"

The phrase I swallowed-then you should choose me-left me feeling uncomfortably full. Having learned from experience, I took this as my cue to leave. And so, the moment I returned home, the lid I'd forced down flew off with such force that I ended up putting a blade to my overgrown hair.

As clumps of hair fell away, I remembered you saying long ago, "I might be drawn to a beautiful older woman."
It seems I was far more attached to you than I realized. I wanted to be someone who could cross a turning point in your life alongside you.

You had once made pancake mix by hand for me, anticipating how lazy I am-yet I would still turn even that to charcoal. Someone like me had no chance of cutting her own hair without incident. By the time the many scrapes on the fingers of my left hand have healed, I plan to see you again with the face of an easy, unburdened friend.

I hope that someday, you will be cherished beyond measure by someone.
I pray from the bottom of my heart that you will live freely, in a future bathed in sunlight.