the last morning of the second summer vacation in japan

you fall asleep on the yamanote line.
sitting by the window, head against the glass. watching the city fall away into the distance.
with headphones on. something instrumental.
while thinking about new friend alison, and that boy with brown eyes.
they're both going home today. back across the ocean.
but your home is here.
and your friends have names like marguerite and hidemitsu.
you live in japan.
and now you're walking that same walk home you've done for a year.
fighting against the morning and squinting against the sun.
dragging your feet and checking the new freckles on your nose.
(how many people here can see their own noses?)
exhausted, falling into bed. hopefully no earthquakes today.
this is your life as a 23-year-old. who would have thought.