Yesterday, I met someone.

Someone who committed suicide in 1948.

I met him in the words he penned down in 1946, saying exactly what I feel. Uncanny, the way he expresses it- did he just steal my emotions? It's a pleasant surprise, comforting yet unsettling all the same. Is someone from 76 years ago watching me?

Just the account of a day in the life of a schoolgirl. What a sharp, piercing heavy little novella!! Words, plain words, weighing nothing at all- leave behind this oh-so-leaden, numb, knotted, life-sapping, tear-jerking feel.

"Goodnight. I am a Cinderella without a prince. You don't know where in Tokyo I am, do you? We won't meet again."

The genius of Dazai san.