Beautiful

have you tried lining your shoes outside your balcony door and glanced at them at one point and found them beautiful simply because they are outside, you’re not wearing them and they’re yours?

how beautiful is it that you can call something yours, like those towels that are hanging outside my balcony door, on those plastic chains i bought for a hundred yen each. they’re white. they’re ordinary

but they’re beautiful. like when i lean out of my balcony window and see the world beyond the four narrow walls of my tiny room at night, it’s dark and it’s endless and it’s beautiful, i wish i belonged to it but i don’t

the same way that i don’t belong to you because i am too ordinary and it seems to me that i am the only person in this world who finds what’s ordinary is beautiful because i am ordinary. i want to be beautiful, too.

and at the same time too, it would be beautiful if i could call you my own. beautiful for me, and beautiful for you. so that i do not have to want to belong to the endlessness of the night when no one else wants me to be their own.