Disclaimer: I don't own Fooly Cooly.
Movement…
Dear Diary,
I come home every day and hope to find the guitar that never moves moved…but, no, it never is. It just sits and waits…waits for something. Every once in a while the guitar plays a string or two…a few notes of that song…the one she played so long ago. Well, what seems so long ago. People remember it…remember how everything seemed to stop…how they stopped. They say it came from my house and that I played and that it was everywhere but they don't know. Didn't…don't hear it like I do… I hear it even now…and so I run home to find…nothing. Not her, not the vespa…not anything. Oh, Mamimi came back…back to this town…the one where nothing amazing happens. She was different…and the same. She wasn't here long though. She came to see me and to talk…she said she heard the song to. She said it really was everywhere… She said she knew it was me…it was my guitar. I told her though…told her that she came back…that she told me she loved me…and wept…and how the rain fell…I told her everything and somehow she seemed to know…know exactly what happened. Then…she left, but it didn't matter. She took Canti too but that didn't matter either. We talk sometimes…through email but…but it doesn't matter. She tells me how she's doing and I tell her that I'm waiting. She…she tells me to move on and I tell her I wait…and she…she says okay and it's done. The guitar that never moves is playing more now…playing more notes than it used to. It is getting there I think…getting close to moving…or to weeping… What help is that though! Why would it weep! Don't I weep enough! God, I wish I could just move it…but I can't. I want her back though…it hurts…it hurts so much………When…
Naota