The girl with the pink hair came to life right in front of our eyes. Please tell me you remember her. Our favorite show was playing quietly in the background. I looked at her round face, lit by the blue screen. It’s like she could tell that the girl with the pink hair was trying to communicate to her what I simply couldn’t. Misako do you remember watching this show a couple months ago? Do you remember calling it a piece of art? Do you remember this man is your husband?

“Ring any bells honey?” Her look stroke through me. A hint of discomfort and then a shy frown. “Um… it truly seems like a good show.” Not the answer I was looking for. “Come on, let’s head out.” She lowered her head. Why was she even following this stranger at this point? Please, bear with me Misako, I can do this. I helped her put on her coat. Awkwardly she turned the other way. I was making her uncomfortable. Maybe she heard my heart drop because as I distanced myself, she looked at me again, it was a look I had seen before. A look Misako would give. Focus Satoru.

Japan is pretty. At the moment it was the only thing that gave me strength. She knew me well, and I knew her too. But I couldn’t stand looking at Misako gazing around like a foreigner. She remembered Tokyo of course, but only the neighborhood she grew up in. All the time we spent in northern Tokyo was nothing but a memory drowning and gasping for air in that suffocating head of hers. I gazed at her hand. So naked it seemed. I should be holding it. I should be holding her.

A smile warmed her face. Sakura. Fully bloomed, pink and fragrant. “Do you like them Misako?” But she couldn’t hear me. Misako was gone. My Misako at least. She was taken by the Sakura, by the girl with the pink hair. It was okay really. They can have her. The Sakura can have my Misako.