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20260108 17:45 文章を直しました。
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Waking up in the morning, I find myself somewhere thinking about our future together.
It's often described in sci-fi terms, likened to a train or speed—a moment.
But in my case, after confirming whether it's love or affection, I often recall time, not a moment.
I wish that wonderful guy or girl would ask me, just once, when I'm still groggy from waking up, too low-blood-pressure to get out of bed yet, “What kind of coffee would you like?”
And I'd like to answer, “... Espresso,” like that famous song.
Mostly, I wonder if this is the right person? Praying that the charm doesn't fade and wash out in the strongest light of the morning or afternoon, yet thoroughly and coolly checking them out.
Taking another shower, doing my makeup, exchanging hopes for healthy, peaceful plans afterward, trying not to disappoint them with any of those details, or hoping they'll chuckle and think, “You're cute.”
And yet, the clothes are as casual as possible without being too energetic, adding a touch of maturity, avoiding a uniform, bland look from one brand. Breakfast is definitely something already in the fridge, light and not a burden. Opening the curtains out of habit, without me saying anything, saying things like, “This is a lovely place,” or something like that. Someone who doesn't suddenly turn on the TV. Someone I'd want to come back to the room once in the afternoon, or stay together until the weekday commute—which would be better?
Light and stylish, so neither of us feels tense. Someone who doesn't make me think, “This person's previous partner must have been amazing,” or make me feel that way.
Someone who doesn't suddenly start talking about books they've read lately or interesting movies, but instead tells me something specific and practical about the coffee machine's features.
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Is it okay to start cleaning the room already?
I hope they're not the type to immediately start directing me around and dumping daily chores on me.
I'd prefer someone who makes plans anew if we go somewhere, and I hope they don't go on and on about yesterday's date, like how wonderful the restaurant was.
Please don't start with boring, edited confessions about the past, and please don't let us run into some horribly dysfunctional couple outside the drugstore on our way out today.
And please, no overwhelmingly perfect friends, acquaintances, seniors, or juniors.
It's fine if they exist, but for now, let's just chat about our preferences and those tiny, one- or two-centimeter details—things that aren't incredibly important. Let's not suddenly rant about how someone puts milk in their coffee or suddenly declares they love cup noodles.
I hope they'll say something like,
“If you don't mind, can I borrow this? Want to share?”
about the clothes I'm wearing today.
While quietly fretting over such things, I'd speak and respond in a monotone, one word at a time. Back when I knew nothing, at a park with wind-moved objects by Susumu Shingu, whom I love, FUNNY GOLD was holding a paint event, and evening was turning to night. No one on the bus knew about it, but a few street folks stood a little apart, watching happily. The artist was doing a final check, and only then did FUNNY GOLD reflect loudly off the night water. I think that's what I'd talk about first.
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| On the shore of unfinished words / Takashi Matsumoto / Truffle Chocolate / Morozoff |





