Osaka

The last time I was on a plane to go on holiday was with you

And this time, the city sprawl lit up at night glows for me only,

from the height the tiny golden lamps on ships are strung out on a black thread

They are your smile in the dark.

It’s 1am in the departure terminal

The carpet is bathed in neon hues and I want to dig myself into the candy spill and find you there

But the ache in my eyelids will remind me that you are not here any more.

It’s 2am in a city that is a stranger to me

It is towers of glass and cold steel and bright bone

My muscles are so tired of carrying these memories.

Before I board a train I will peel the last one off, shed it and stick it to the curb, a filmy skin, so that the next passerby knows your name.

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Osaka

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