Work Text:
— Typed, crumpled into a ball by tiny hands. The ink is smudged.
There’s a poem I’ve been creating. It goes,
In the moonlit fog, a cliche beginning to a cliche tale, There sat a lonely fisherman, empty net in hand, forlorn expression stitched onto his face. “Oh god,” he cries out into the night. “Oh god, why am I so alone?” But he isn’t alone. He will never be alone, for the moon shines her light on his visage. And she loves him so. But his heart belongs to the tides.
"Oh, please send someone to make me feel whole."
So the moon rose the tides and pushed them close. The fisherman loved the tides, and the tides loved the fisherman. They both forgot the moon when the sun finally rose and she smiled, for she knew a moon and fisherman could never find love together. So long as the fisherman is happy, she would find peace in the night sky.
It's about you. Us. You and me, though I'll never tell you that. You don't need to know how I feel; the moon never tells the fisherman her affections and I will never tell you mine. But I'll bring you the tides. Aren't they lovely? She's perfect for you.
You're incorrigible. Treacherous. A lout with a mouth that will certainly get you into trouble some day, but I think that's what draws me to you. You have a way with words so different from mine that I can't help but want to hear more.
I have another poem for you, it goes,
There is the ghost of a poet and the heir to a shrine. The ghost insults the heir and drives him mad. The heir pays no attention to artistry and drives the ghost mad. They're the perfect team.
The heir tells the ghost, You should write a poem about love. Then I'll pay attention.
The ghost agrees.
But all he can write about is the heir. So he writes about the heir and disguises it as fairy tales. This is the tale of Cinderella; this is the tale of Snow White. This is the tale of two people in love.
The heir applauds the ghost again and again.
There is no end to this tale. It still needs to be written.
— Fragments on tattered paper, soaked by the rain. The first half is missing entirely, and this is all that remains.
You stand there———but I'm already floating away.
I wonder———
———It's too late for that though.
The rain continues to pour and I continue to wonder what could have been.
—A letter, no address. Some lines are crossed out. The poet has folded it into a small square and stashed it inside a doll-sized kimono.
My dear,
I see the way you look at her and I know that you're in love. I daresay you're smitten, though your mouth is still unfit for a gentleman. I see the way she looks at you too; it's the way I do eyes sparkling with admiration and affection, seeing you for you, not for the facade you carefully craft. I urge you to go for it. Express your affections to her before it is too late. Life is too short to be afraid; go boldly on and tell her you love her.
Should you need some inspiration, I've attached a poem to read to her below. She is sure to love it, my dear. That is the Zenji Kotodama guarantee. I wrote it specially for you and for her; it is the very portrait of a lovesick man. And this one has a happy ending.
Please do this for me. It's all I want; your happiness. It's too late for the two of us, but maybe it's not for you and her. Please treat her kindly and let her treat you the same; please love her deeply and fully; please hold her and hug her and feel the warmth of her skin on yours.
But first please let me send you this letter and call it a poem so you can call it horsefeathers. Strike it from the record of your mind. 'You're terrible at pranks,'. Please let my affections become satire so that they can remain hidden.
Please let me be your literary genius for as long as possible. Please take me with you on your journey through happiness. Please let me stay by your side until you say 'I do,'.
And then please,
let me go.
Please seek what brings your heart joy.
I'll be cheering you on all the while.
—A simple square. The handwriting is terrible and too large to fit on the sheet. It looks as though someone has just learned how to write. There is only four letters repeated again and again.
H H H H
a a a a
h h k k
y u y u
—The back of it, crossed out. The ink still fresh.
I love you, Haku.