When I am typing, I imagine that I am playing the piano,  touching the keyboard while breathing, expressing everything through the tips of my fingers.

Today, suddenly, I thought: How about doing something for a change? Instead of just feeling, perhaps it’s about time I start doing, although doing something has always horrified me. Because doing means abandoning other things. It’s like choosing a soulmate: I want to know your story, and therefore I cannot allow myself to know the other ones. 

That vow terrifies me, because I am too curious. Won’t I want to know other stories? Yes, I would. 

I went to work early today,  picked the earlier shift.

“Oh, so you’re early today,” the lady said, surprised.

“I have an early morning tomorrow,” I answered. I do, but that’s not the reason. 

Work, for me, is only a reason to go outside. If I didn’t have work, I would be in my room,  contemplating and contemplating, feeling and feeling, desiring and desiring, eternally.  But what would I contemplate if I didn’t know the world?

I need to walk and see the world. But any work that stresses me too much would drain me. There are too many jobs that ask you to pour out your soul , and then you have nothing left to live with. The workload must be just the right amount. Not too much, not too little.

Just don’t drag my two fleeting feet. I want to hop and run and twirl and say things that disgust you. Oh, you do not understand, and I don’t need you to. Keep the fuck away from me. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against you. I just have nothing in common with you either.

I won’t harm you, as long as you don’t drag me into your story. I do not belong here , and that’s precisely why I chose to be here. Because not belonging is easier than belonging and then leaving. When you belong and take root, you start to absorb everything from the ground, and when you leave, you must tear yourself apart. That’s too much. I’ve already had tons of stitches, barely escaped the past wounds, and do not need more of them. 

I’m just here to test the water, and my soul says “No.” So I try not to absorb anything here, perhaps only some thin layer of information. I skim through the words as if I were walking by; everything is temporary. Like I said, I just need a place to go.

And since I get to leave early now, I have a few hours to write in my diary, and maybe go on a small adventure after work. Yes, being rootless is the strength of my soul, now that I am.

But it wasn’t easy. It never is. But am I ready? Yes, I am. Because I feel it ,  the joy,  that I can finally tell a story from the perspective of a valueless creature, which I have always aspired to be.  

 After I jotted down my diary,  I stopped by a town that Iroha lives, an accountant at a foreign affiliated company, who's swimming under water in his room in a hip neighborhood, his nerves constantly frayed. But don't be too concerned about him; the overtime pay is generous. I thought about hitting him up, saying I'm in town. I knew he'll invite me to his stylish room with the latest projector and artificial plants neatly placed in the corner. And since it is exactly as I imagined, I would inevitably as if I had no pages left to flip. 

 A static image, the end of the tale. And the story is over.  Just like that.