You think about dancing. About the ending of that film where the guy and the girl dance in a family party and think —I want that.
He smiles like it hurts, sometimes. To you, with you. He smiles like what it feels to you to smile. You wonder why —why does Taichi smile like that? Why must it hurt? Why. why. why?
(you feel like a mistake)
He cries with his hands in yours in a too white room in a too white hospital (how can this too clean place feel always so dirty) and it feels like everything he does will break you forever.
(this cannot be it)
The thing is. Taichi is. Like. He’s.
[a moment to breath, please]
You want to take his tongue out of his mouth and check that he is, in fact, physically able to explain something. To say something, with meaning.
It feels cruel. It feels true. It feels like growing up and growing angry.
(it feels like fear)
You break your leg. Your team loses the match.
It’s a promise. Something about it, about everything, feels like it, anyway.
You lose your secret.
The thing is. That sometimes. He does say something. With meaning.
He shatters sentences until they don't sound like sentences and you remember a time when he wasn't like this and you are unable to recognize if you're nostalgic about how he used to be or guitly, if you want to go back or if you want to forget, but when he calls your name, ''Touma'', you are sure you feel it.
(it feels like breaking)
Seiya wonders. Akiko wonders. Will the child wonder too? You have the answers, you know, to some things. But. You have so many more questions. You wonder too.
(you wish you were sure, you wish you knew)
You think about dancing. About the ending of that film where the guy and the girl dance in a family party and think —I want a happy ending too.