Thursday. It’s 5 A.M at KIX airport. I can’t sleep, I’m too excited, I’m still haunted. My heart is still heavy with big surprises that I’m nowhere near ready to leave behind.

Would I ever be? I’ve always been a bit slow on the uptake.

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A morning in Kyoto.


~ It seems that I fell in love. Again.

And I feel that I’m going to struggle to recover. Again.

It’s a bit like a curse for any traveller, isn’t it? Scattering your crushes like you’d do with pins on a world map.

My love is a wanderer.


~ It’s all over the floor of this Kiwi guy’s Parisian apartment, where I used to roam bare feet.

It’s expanding a bit to Ho Chi Minh, sparkling in the moon pictures that this romantic Sicilian guy keeps on sending to me.

It’s nested into this origami this Italian guy put into his wallet before departing.

Bits of it were spread into those travellers’ pockets in New Zealand, those travellers I lost track of.

And this time, I left its sweet scent on this Israeli’s scarf in Kyoto.

My love is a rubber band.


~ My curse is making my head spin out of vertigo.

I fall in love every four mornings and no matter which borders I go through, you’ll have some sweets to take away. I promise this carry on is tax-free.

My love is an omiyage.


A morning in Matsumoto.


~ My feelings are scattering with the changing of the seasons. Flying away to the four winds like the fragile cherry tree’s petals, they’re swirling and whirling and end up on the ground, like this red Autumn’s foliage.

Those seasons are playing with me, carrying away my magic, my dances, my romances in my sweet nostalgia before the next great looping.

My love is a rollercoaster.


~ I’m often waiting for that green light, that next train departing for another mechanical lift up to the top that’s going to kick my shoes away, ignite myself like the first time, with that dizzy taste of vertigo in my mouth.

Butterflies are flapping in my stomach while riding up. Am I going too high?

My feet are not touching the ground anymore by the time you take my hand in the streets of Kyoto.


~ But always that bloody train stops, after that great descent that tangled my hair like your fingers did the other night. It stops and leaves me breathless, in chock.

It only lasted for a ride.

It only lasted for a season.

I’m just a fading memory by now, a folded origami in your pocket.

My love is in million pieces.


A morning in Hualien.


~ And yet I’m always the one leaving.

I’m leaving you on a train station platform, in front of a taxi stand, by a hostel door, up on the escalator. I turn my back on you, I try to keep it together,  but I’m losing it.

I’m such a hypersensitive girl you know.

Tears are running down my cheeks and snot is leaving off my nose of what we could have been if I had loved you enough. Of what I would have wanted to make last if I had loved you a little.


~ I’m losing it and still I’m standing at the departure gate. Still, I’m soaring even though nostalgia is delicately touching my shoulder, promising me upcoming crying night walks.

But still, I’m soaring.


~ I have way too many memories to cherish.

Way too many lovers to miss.

Way too many goodbyes to process.


But isn’t the fourth morning coming soon?

Maybe this time my elastic love will cross the security gate with me.

A morning in Hahei.

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