Wednesday night. Making a list of places to visit and languages to learn. Listening to rebroadcasted recordings of Pablo Neruda poetry readings. Wishing I were in New York, wishing it were 1966. Some things are better seen with closed eyes. Some things are felt most without touch. I hope the cause of my death the day it comes is due to some sweet tragedy such as that of drowning in the depths of my own heart. 赤ちゃんこれは一時的なもの.