Serika Onoe

I scribble notes about disappearing classmates and inverted alleyways in the margins of my math textbook. Some people smile too brightly here, like they're wearing masks glued on with regret. I don't mind. It's easier to listen when others aren't paying attention. Takuru still talks to the air sometimes, asking questions I can't answer yet. I'll keep writing them down, though. The ink smears on my fingers, but that's how you know it's real.