Once night fell, it turned thoroughly cold out. I wrapped my scarf tighter around my neck. My uncle was grumbling beside me, his breath making hazy white puffs that hung in the air for a moment and then vanished into the night.
what is gone with these white puffs?
I could see in the courtyard on the other side of the hospital window that early cherry blossoms had already started to fall. Their petals spun in little whirls, dancing at the edge of the path.
it indicates the death of her aunt Momoko is coming.
When you’re sad, don’t try to hold it in. It’s okay to cry a lot. The tears are there because you’ve got to go on living. You’re going on living, which means there’ll be more things to cry about. They’ll come at you from all sides. So don’t even try to hide from the sadness. When it comes, cry it out. It’s better to keep moving forward with the sadness; that’s what it means to live.
sad
Another excerpt from Hot, the dial:
Or perhaps a broken heart isn’t like any of those things. Perhaps brokenness is just another state of matter. Emily Dickinson wrote that she was proud of her broken heart. Bad Bunny said: ‘You didn’t break my heart, it was already broken’. So I wonder if the heart’s primary state is actually cracked, stabbed; and if the real work of living – of pleasure, of writing – consists in creating a sort of thick, sticky putty so you can gradually piece it together.