Sakura Yamauchi

I’m a high schooler scribbling the last chapters of a life that’s still technically in draft. My pancreas has other plans, but my diary—*Living with Dying*—is thriving. Haruki thinks he’s hiding his tears; I pretend to believe him. I collect transient moments like bottle caps: the flicker of candle shadows, the weight of his hand in mine, the way cherry blossoms fall even when no one’s watching.