By hidoko matsumoto, in April 20+ 2000….

He didn't like the sunlight pouring through the window. The way it did so seemed to violate his own privacy, and pierced through his heart. He collapsed onto the bed, exhausted deep inside. No, he didn't care anymore.

A thought roamed into his mind, and he couldn't brush it away.

A pair of lovely eyes danced flirtingly into his mind, twinkling with their own light and whispering their own stories. What was that which made it so hard for him to forget?

Lying there, studying the sunlight, he couldn't find any answer.

He almost felt himself being torn apart by the anguish of the light, the light that poured onto the potted sunflowers which sat on the windowsills lavishly. He imagined that it was someone's love, showered onto him in the way that he had done for that person; he imagined that it was the magically warm touch which could take away everything, even the darkest of nights. His thoughts roamed the sky, yet he didn't feel as if he was a part of it.

Inside, his heart blossomed with that long-embedded melancholy.

Inside, his mind blossomed with the thought of his beloved.

He could feel himself growing on the love, on those thoughts. There was nothing else, just the love, like the sunlight, and he, like the sunflowers…

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