Summer’s big heat has broken. I used to fly to America for my mother’s birthday. The days getting sorter, summer nearly gone.
In Tokyo, early to work. A month of painting every day. I start to remember. not me, my fingers.
Summer’s big heat has broken. I used to fly to America for my mother’s birthday. The days getting sorter, summer nearly gone.
In Tokyo, early to work. A month of painting every day. I start to remember. not me, my fingers.
