The corner is right there.
I can already see it, but
to not be noticed,
I`m counting in my head.
There’s only the sound of one pair of shoes.
Unseen parameters
can’t help but cross my mind,
so I’m always watching someone from the bleachers.
I fill my ears with lonely songs,
thinking about embarrassing things.
I feel like we can take each other’s hands time and again.
Surprisingly, it’s ok. Surprisingly, it’s ok.
If I step softly,
it gets repainted,
the scenery I’m supposed to know,
and it’s more quiet than usual.
Even so, without a doubt,
inside the passing wind,
they lifted their faces at the sound of your voice,
those mismatched parts,
and I firmly grasp them.
What color is your color?
I want to try saying it aloud a bit,
but nevermind, I don’t need to say it afterall.
Our colors mix together.
Like an intersection with no traffic light, we slowly
spread out and melt.
I want to fill up both of my hands with your words.
I want to know. I want to see. I want to touch.
From behind a blurred lens
someone is waving at me,
someone whose face I can’t see.
Just waiting for guidance
all alone
standing straight up in the hallway.
I feel like I’ll be looked through.
A wink becomes a heart throbbing
atop eyelids, even today.
I can’t help but be interested in
your facial expressions that I can’t read yet and copy them.
The wind that blows in from the window,
for some reason I become aware of it,
and think of naive conversation with no answer to have.
I think I can have it with you. I think I can have it with you.
The colors and smells of the season become stronger.
The moment we touch,they become even more vivid.
My rising heartbeat seems like the beginning of a dream.
While grasping your hand softly,
I’m blissfully swept away.
What kind of sound is your sound?
I want to try listening a little more closely.
Will I ever be able to hear it better one day?
Our sounds overlap.
Even with irregular breathing,
the days I think fondly of
sparkle.
I carry a bouquet for you with both hands full.
Even without a guide,
the “me” who proceeds one step at a time,
a time where I like this “me” will come, so
I want to see both the morning glow and the evening glow.
That small desire
urges us on a bit, just a little.
What color is your color?
What color is your color?
I want to try saying it aloud a bit,
but never mind, I don’t need to say it after all.
Our colors mix together.
Like an intersection with no traffic light, we slowly
spread out and melt.
I want to fill up both of my hands with your words.
I want to know. I want to see. I want to touch.
From behind a blurred lens
someone is waving at me,
someone whose face I can’t see.