The still images left on 35mm movie film spin weaving an anonymous narrative. Particles of light are falling on your eyes like raindrops. The occasional noise in the silent movie like a drizzle brings us a harmony between crush and tranquility. It is sunny outside the cinema, though.

The projection booth lost power. I lost your shadow on the screen. The silk socks slipped off my feet and disappeared into the basement. A peek through the door of the next meeting room revealed that the monks were talking about something serious in the half-light. I was just looking for a bathroom to recite my lines. Just a bright place. 

No end to that 35mm movie film. Take a taxi in a bustling town. I wonder if you have memorized even a muted scene hidden behind your eyelids. Do not forget. In cinematography, we are directing our incidents. It will never actually happen. The still images keep spinning with the light behind. 

…

hiromi suzuki is a poet, fiction writer, artist living in Tokyo. Her writing has appeared in 3:AM Magazine, RIC journal, Berfrois, Minor Literature[s] and various literary journals on-line.