masato0308-blog1

[masato0308-blog1]

Keeping the Warmth, Right Here

Introduction

When I pause for a moment, small scenes gently shimmer deep within my heart. The things that matter most are quietly present here. I've woven these little stories together. May their warmth softly reach someone's heart.

Chapter 1: Spring and New Beginnings

Walking Through a Big Spring with My Little One

On a leisurely morning, I woke up late, having dozed off again. As I sat in a daze, Haru-chan stared at me intently. The moment our eyes met, she slipped into her backpack. —Ah, today is a "let's go out a lot" day. That's how our gentle morning began.

Bathed in spring light, we headed to a park by the mountains, a bit farther than usual. Haru-chan, full of energy from staying home, trotted ahead with her tiny feet. The river sparkled, and the mountain greenery was vividly refreshing. Dandelions swayed in the roadside breeze, and even frogs peeked out leisurely. —Small lives quietly breathe today as well. That ordinary miracle gently warmed my heart.

Cool Tiles and Relaxed Time

On the way back, Haru-chan stopped on the cool tiles near her favorite supermarket. Cars, people, and wind passed by quietly, and she simply watched the flow of the world. When I crouched down beside her and looked up, the sky was endlessly gentle and clear.

A Small Encounter

When she met the eyes of a stranger, Haru-chan dashed over and was happily petted. "She can warm up to strangers so quickly," I thought, watching her. Then Haru-chan tapped me with her paw. —You should talk too. It felt like she was saying that.

Thoughts of Acchan

Watching a small child toddle along, I suddenly thought: —If Acchan and I had a child, would we have walked like this? Seeing the sparkling river, I wished Acchan could see it too. Each time the wind caressed my cheek, I hoped Acchan could feel this breeze. But today, strangely, no tears came. Surely, Acchan is somewhere, gently riding a different wind. Today, too, it's okay.

A Quiet Day

Nothing special happened—a quiet day. Yet, every day, Haru-chan softly delivers messages: "It's okay." "Let's walk together today too." Tomorrow again, we'll walk through the big world with small steps. —Gathering little lights along the way.

Chapter 2: In the Quiet Light

Just a Morning Like That

One morning, I woke up slightly earlier than usual. Soft light gently streamed through the window. In the distance, little birds chirped softly. Beside me, Haru-chan slept soundly. As I gently rose, a small "brrr" sound came. That gentle, trembling, beloved sound. The futon shifted, and Haru-chan peeked out. "Are you getting up? Or a bit more?" Without words, her round eyes quietly asked. I smiled softly and gently asked back, "What shall we do today?" Haru-chan flopped back onto the futon, pressing her warm back against me. Just that. But the morning's stillness and small warmth quietly filled my heart. Light, wind, sounds, and scents—all gently and quietly breathed. I closed my eyes once more. The world breathed softly and quietly.

Returning to Gentle Days

When I opened the door, the two-hour train ride melted away. Unzipping the carrier bag, Haru-chan eagerly jumped out. She walked straight, as if remembering the way. When the front door opened, my mother greeted us with a smile. "Welcome, Haru-sama." Haru-chan licked her face, and my mother, smiling shyly, said, "Thank you, thank you, it's okay," and gently hugged her. I could feel the tension easing from her small body.

The First Step

After exploring the house, Haru-chan dashed into the garden like it was a dog run. Soft sunlight, the warm scent of soil. Haru-chan sniffed the flowers in the flowerbed. Playing tag with me, her fluffy tail bounced, bringing smiles. Embracing the scent of spring, a small adventure began.

Running Through the Light

While playing in the garden, Haru-chan repeatedly returned indoors. She checked on my mother's presence and then dashed outside again. Her small back, bathed in light, expanded in my heart. She ran through the sparkling garden with her tiny feet.

Relaxation Time

After playing to her heart's content, Haru-chan sank into her favorite cushion and began to sleep quietly. My mother and I listened to her breathing, simply watching over her. Warm afternoon light quietly and slowly filled the room.

Little Adventurer

Suddenly, I saw Haru-chan skillfully moving a bag with her nose, quietly climbing the stairs. "Haru-chan, where did you go?" When I called out with a laugh, she turned back with a face that seemed to say, "You found me." My mother and I looked at each other and burst into laughter.

Before Saying Goodbye

In the evening, even when it was time to leave, Haru-chan didn't want to get into the bag. Dozing on the sofa, her eyes said, "I want to stay here longer." Enticed with a treat, she finally entered the carrier, and my mother quietly murmured, "It's like a confessional." Her voice was as quiet as a prayer. My mother offered a small prayer. We gently returned to our gentle days.

Chapter 3: The Warmth of That Day

Memories of Running in the Night Park

At night, in an empty park, Acchan, Haru-chan, and I walked together. "Masato-san, watch me," Acchan said happily. Haru-chan started running in a big circle. Round and round, her small body danced in the night air. Acchan, holding the leash, spun around at the center. Both of them laughed joyfully. Watching them, my heart gently warmed. The night wind was a bit chilly, but their laughter softly warmed the air. That night's laughter still quietly echoes somewhere in my heart.

Bicycle Adventure and Getting Lost

Acchan and I rode bicycles home after work. "This way is shorter," Acchan said, entering a narrow residential street. "What a big house," "This road is narrow, be careful!" Laughing, Acchan pedaled forward, looking only ahead. Due to the aftereffects of illness, Acchan's field of vision was slightly narrow, so I rode slightly behind, protecting her. The winding, narrow road gradually darkened, and before we knew it, we were lost in an unfamiliar town. "Where are we?" Laughing together, we kept pedaling. It felt like a childhood adventure. An odd adventure of an uncle and aunt. When we finally reached a familiar road, blurred stars twinkled in the night sky. "It's still Tuesday," we laughed

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"I Wasn't Saved, But I'm Still Here." — On nights when no one's words could reach me, I kept searching for my own.

Poem: About Salvation

Words of salvation— there were none for me.

None of them reached me. Not to the very core of my heart. Not even close.

But you know, only when I wrote about Acchan, I could breathe—just a little.

Even if I was crying, even if I was shaking, writing was the only thing that kept me and Acchan connected.

Not someone else’s words, but the memories with that person— they are still the reason I'm alive.

Every time someone asked, “Are you okay?” after Acchan passed, I really wanted to say, “No, I’m not okay.”

But I couldn’t.

I didn’t have the strength to respond. Everything people said— it felt like throwing a stone on a thick duvet. No sound, no bounce. Just sinking.

The more I heard “Time will heal,” the more distant the clock hands felt.

“Cheer up,” they said, but I didn’t even know how to do that anymore. Sometimes, I even got angry.

Maybe I just didn’t have the capacity to be saved by words.

Or maybe, there really are no such things as “magic words.”

Still, I opened note every single day. And I wrote about Acchan.

Even while crying, I wrote. On hard days, I scrolled through old LINE messages, closed them halfway through, then opened them again— and wrote just a little.

Only during that time, did I feel like we were still connected somehow.

That was salvation for me. Not someone else’s words, but the act of reaching for memories with my own hand.

If I hadn’t written, I might’ve truly broken.

I would’ve crumbled— quietly, invisibly.

Reading others’ notes and posts who went through something similar— sometimes I found myself whispering, “I get it.”

Their words echoed emotions I couldn't voice, and just reading them brought me to tears.

But did that ease my pain? Not really.

Their grief was theirs. Mine was mine.

We could stand next to each other, but we couldn’t swap places.

Sure, there are people in this world facing war, disasters, farewells more unbearable than mine.

So I tried telling myself, “I’m not the only one suffering.”

But the loneliness deep inside— it stayed.

Comparing pain doesn’t make it lighter. In fact, it felt like I was running away from properly grieving.

I could only hold myself together by remembering Acchan.

I made a choice—not to forget. To remember, as my own way of living.

Through writing, I retraced the time I spent with Acchan.

Maybe it was like reconfirming my love with my own words.

I wasn’t saved. But I’m still here.

I write about the time I had with Acchan, cry a little today too, and still say to myself—maybe that’s okay.

Maybe this is what salvation means for me.

And maybe— for someone still living through a night where no words can reach them,

these words might light up something small.

[masato0308-blog1]

The Two Tickets

A poem about the night we never went, and how I still keep the two tickets on my wall. We didn't make it to the concert— but we made it through that night together.

The Two Tickets

We were supposed to go. But that night, I was in the hospital.

I held your hand and said, “Today’s the concert day.” You didn’t answer, but I felt you were listening.

You smiled and said, “This ticket is my strength,” when you were admitted. That smile— I still remember it clearly.

I wasn’t that into live music. But you were. And I loved the way you sang, eyes lit up. That was enough for me. That’s why I bought the tickets.

Two of them, still on the wall. Because it was always us.

That night, I talked to you like you were there: “They’re playing our favorite now,” “Your seat’s still open.” Just whispers in a quiet room.

No music, though. Only the beep—beep— of a heart monitor. It sounded like it was measuring how alive you still were. That sound still scares me.

Your hand was still warm. And that scared me more. Because I knew you wouldn’t come back. That knowing stayed.

Tears didn’t fall on command. They just happened— at the store, on a walk, when a song floated by.

But I’m glad I stayed. I’m glad I spent that night with you, even if we never left that room.

The tickets are still there. Let them stay. They remind me of that night.

Today, I’m alive. For the both of us.

If your chest hurts too— just for today, live. Even if you cry, just live.

【チケットはまだ、2枚のまま】

ライブに行くはずやった日、 私は病室にいた。

あなたの手を握って、 「今日、ライブの日やで」って話しかけた。 もう返事はなかったけど、聴いてる気がしてた。

「これが支えや」って、入院のとき、あなたは笑ってた。 あの日の笑顔、今もはっきり覚えてる。

【あの人の“好き”が、私の“好き”になった】

私は、そこまでライブに興味があったわけやなかった。 けど、あなたが嬉しそうに歌ってる姿が好きで。 その笑顔を、ライブでも見たかった。 それだけ��、申し込んだ。

壁には、チケットが2枚。 ふたりで行くはずやったから。 今も、貼ったまま。

【音のない夜】

病室で、ライブの話をした。 「今ごろあの曲やろな」とか、 「隣の席、空いてるで」とか、 ひとりごとのように。

でも── 音楽なんて、病室にはなかった。 あるのは、心電図の「ピッ、ピッ」いう音だけ。 その音が、“生きてるかどうか”を試されてるみたいで、怖かった。

あなたの手は、まだあたたかかった。 でもそれが、もっと怖かった。 もう、戻られへんのやなって。 その予感だけが、じっと心に残ってた。

【今日を、生きてる】

涙は、出るとか出ないやなくて、 気づいたら流れてた。 歩いてても、買い物してても、 ふと音楽が耳に入るだけで、立ち止まってしまう。

でも、あの夜。 行けなかった夜を、あなたと過ごせて、ほんまによかったと思ってる。 たしかに、ふたりでおった気がするから。

チケットは、まだ貼ったまま。 そのままでええねん。 それを見るたび、あの日のことを思い出す。

今日は、生きてる。 ちゃんと、あなたの分まで。

もし、今あなたも、同じように胸が痛いなら。 今日だけでも、生きててください。 泣いてもええから、生きててください。

[masato0308-blog1]

The Funny Face Message

You used to send me selfies with silly faces. In the background— laundry and a rice cooker.

I laughed. Then I cried a little. And quietly, I said, “Please come back.” I never deleted that message.

Haru, our dog, stopped at the same corner again, staring at that Labrador.

Behind her, I stood still, letting the rustle of the plastic bag cover my silence.

“Let’s la go!” That was your catchphrase— arm raised, smile full. I remembered it again.

A 90s pop song played at the supermarket. It’s gone, but somehow still close.

That funny face message— still unread. Just like me now, sitting here.

変顔のライン

あっちゃんが送ってきてた 変顔のライン よく見れば、背景は洗濯物と炊飯器

笑いながら ちょっと泣いて 笑ったあと、声に出さずに「戻ってきて」って言った そのLINE、まだ消せていない

はるちゃんは 今日も角で止まって あのラブラドールを、ずっと見てた

わたしはその後ろで レジ袋の音にまぎれて 何も言わなかった

——レッツラゴー！ って言うて、腕を上げたあなたの姿を また、思い出してしまった

スーパーで流れる 90年代のポップス 戻らないのに、 すぐそこにあるような

その変顔のライン 既読はつかないまま まるで、今のわたしそのものやな

[masato0308-blog1]

A Quiet Voice Behind These Words

This is not a story with an ending. It’s just a quiet place, where some words keep breathing.

I write from a life that changed.

In early 2024, I lost someone I loved deeply. Her name was Acchan. We had been together for thirteen years.

Since then, the world has gone quiet. And somehow, only writing has helped me stay.

Now, I live with Haru, a small chihuahua with big eyes and soft steps. She reminds me, every day, that we are still here.

I’ve worked in the field of social care for over twenty years. Words, like care, need to be gentle and honest. That’s how I try to write.

Most of my pieces are small. They come from quiet mornings, a dog’s tail wagging, the ache of someone not being there, and the light that still lingers.

If you’ve lost someone, or are just trying to walk through the day— I hope you find something soft here.

You are not alone. You don’t have to be strong all the time.

These words are not loud. But they’re still here. Just like you.

If something in this place speaks to your heart, I’d be grateful for a quiet like.

[masato0308-blog1]

Walking with You, Through the Big Spring

A quiet walk with someone small, through a spring too big to hold.

Walking with You, Through the Big Spring A quiet day with Haru. Nothing special—yet everything mattered.

On a quiet morning It was a day off. I woke up late after falling back asleep. Haru watched me silently as I sat, still foggy.

And then— the moment our eyes met, Haru quietly slipped into her backpack.

—Ah, today is a "let's go out" kind of day.

In the spring light We headed for a park near the mountains. Haru, filled with saved-up energy, trotted ahead on her small legs.

The river sparkled, the green hills looked fresh, and dandelions swayed by the roadside.

A frog peeked out slowly too.

A cool tile, a calm pause On the way back, Haru stopped at her new favorite spot— a cool tile near the supermarket.

She quietly watched the world pass by: cars, people, the wind.

A small nudge She suddenly ran up to a stranger, and melted into her hand, getting gently petted.

—She doesn’t always do that, I thought. Then she turned and tapped my leg with her paw.

——Your turn. Say something.

It felt like that.

Thoughts of Acchan Seeing a small child walking, I thought—

If Acchan and I had a child, would we have walked like this?

Looking at the shining river, I wished I could show her this.

As the wind brushed past me, I wished she could feel it too.

But strangely, I didn’t cry today.

Today was okay, too It was just an ordinary day. But every day, Haru seems to whisper:

“It’s okay.” “Let’s keep walking, together.”

And surely tomorrow, with your small paws, we’ll walk this big world again.

小さなきみと、大きな春を歩く

風の匂いも、たんぽぽの揺れも、 ぜんぶ一緒に、抱えて。

のんびりした春の日に、はるちゃんと歩いた道のことを書きました。

おでかけの朝 今日はお休みの日。 二度寝して、遅めに起きた朝。 ぼんやりしている私を、はるちゃんはじっと見ていた。

目が合った瞬間、 はるちゃんは、すっとリュックに入った。

——あ、今日は「たくさん出かける日」だ。

そう感じた、ゆるやかな朝のはじまり。

春の光の中で 久しぶりに、少し遠い山側の公園へ向かう。 はるちゃんは、お留守番でためた体力を満タンにしていて、 小さな足で、とことこと歩きな���ら、ぐんぐん先へ進んでいく。

川はきらきら光り、 山の緑は鮮やかで、 道ばたにはタンポポが揺れている。

カエルも、のんびり顔を出していた。

ひんやりタイルと、まったり時間 帰り道。 はるちゃんは、最近お気に入りのスーパー近くの、 ひんやりしたタイルの上で立ち止まった。

すれ違う車、人、風。 いろんな世界を、ただ静かに眺める時間。

小さなきっかけ 知らないおばちゃんと目が合うと、 はるちゃんは一目散に飛びこんで、うっとり撫でられていた。

「急に知らない人になつくこともあるんだなあ」

そう思って見ていると、 はるちゃんがチョイチョイっと私を前足でつついた。

——あなたも、話しなさいよ。

そんなふうに、言われた気がした。

あっちゃんのこと 小さな子どもがちょこちょこ歩く姿を見ながら、ふいに思った。

——あっちゃんとの間に子どもがいたら、 ——こんなふうに歩いたんやろうか。

キラキラした川を見て、 あっちゃんにも「見てほしいな」と思った。

風が気持ちよく吹きぬけるたび、 「あっちゃんも、いまこれを感じられたらよかったのにな」 そんな想いが、胸にそっと浮かんだ。

でも今日は、不思議と涙は出なかった。

今日も、だいじょうぶ 特別なことはなにもない、静かな一日。 だけど、はるちゃんは毎日、 「だいじょうぶやで」 「今日も一緒に歩こう」

そんなメッセージを、そっと届けてくれている気がする。

——きっとまた、明日も一緒に。

小さな足で、大きな世界を歩いていこう。

[masato0308-blog1]

Let’s La Go！

For those who still hear a voice, even in silence.

It always begins in silence. I take a deep breath and look up at the still-dark sky.

That’s when I remember— Her voice, bright and full of life, shouting “Let’s la go!”

That voice still echoes in my chest, a thump, like the first heartbeat before the new moon rises.

Maybe I’m still lost. Maybe I don’t know where I’m going.

But sometimes I wonder: Am I the only one who hears someone’s voice in the quiet?

So today again, I whisper it in my heart— “Let’s la go.”

Even if I can’t hear her anymore, I remember.

And I know she’d laugh and say, “See? Let’s la go, right?”

「レッツラゴー！」

始まりは、いつも静かだった。 深呼吸をひとつ、まだ暗い空を見上げる。 そんなとき、思い出す。 腕をぴんと伸ばして、にかっと笑って 「レッツラゴー！」と叫ぶ、あっちゃんの声。

その声は、私の胸の奥に届いて トン、と鼓動を鳴らす。 それはまるで、新月前夜の空にひそむ、はじまりの音。

私はまだ、迷っているかもしれない。 でも、ふと思う。 こんな声、他にも届いてるんじゃないかって。 もしかしたら、あなたにもあるかもしれない。 静かなときにだけ届く、誰かの声。

だから今日も、「レッツラゴー」って、 心のなかで呟いてみる。

声は聞こえなくても、私はそれを思い出せる。 あっちゃん、また笑いながら言うやろな。 「ほら、レッツラゴーやで」って。