Being a foreigner in a country very much your own is difficult.
I have been, after all, only in touch with the reality there a number of times. Yes, I was educated to know it, and yes, I have its history, its beauty, its art at mind.
And yet, I cannot seem to grasp how real it is.
I don't know how real it is.
And so, leaving for a country that I only know from brochures stirs no such fear from me.
I'll treat it as a form of entertainment—no matter how much 'business' may try to eat me up.
I shall think of going away as a pastime—the way I think of you as one, as mine.
Still, something gnaws at me—something akin to fear or apprehension.
It's funny how I've started knowing these emotions. I have, after all, shut myself from feeling anything.
But you—you whose eyes are always so bright, you who I've always thought were only a hindrance, a sick joke the academy wanted to play on us music students—you managed to break through me.
That isn't what I fear, though (although I used to).
What I fear is that I'll find you foreign when I return—that I shan't know you, not have any inkling of what you are.
I haven't completely figured you out yet, after all.
Then again, I might like you much more (yes I do like you).
Because you'll once again give me something new, break the monotonous line I have for a life.
And once again, you'll find me annoyed at how different you are.
Because you see, I wasn't annoyed at the fact that you wormed your way in.
I was annoyed at you because you were different—that you could be different.
And I'll find myself falling deeper in like with you.
Disclaimer: La Corda isn't mine, but there's nothing wrong with daydreaming.
Author's notes: If there's anything I like writing, it's a romantic Azuma. XD