Oniisan… Ohitori Desu Ka? ✰

“Hana,” she said. “What’s yours?”

She tested it, lips shaping the syllables. “Kaito-oniisan.” oniisan… ohitori desu ka?

“Oniisan,” she said again, softer this time. “Do you think it’s possible to miss someone who’s still alive?” “Hana,” she said

I thought of my father in his hospital bed. The way his hand had felt the last time I held it—dry, bird-light, the bones like twigs under skin. I thought of the voicemail I hadn’t returned. The essay I hadn’t finished. The friends I’d stopped answering. ” she said again