The City I thought I'd find in 2018

I imagined a city, a city not too unlike a number of places I’ve been. Some places quiet and busy. Friendly. With lots of happy people walking as though they were weightless. Bouncing about with every step, unaware that there could be another way. I imagined a city that had it’s dark alleys, crowded with hanging wires and neon signs, the occasional LED unzipping the darkness. I imagined exhausted men with grim faces biting at any available foreign object, and moving onward.
I imagined an apartment in that city, small, and packed to the wall with things, but somehow tidy despite being utterly covered. I imagined it full, with both people in it, and full with one. And sometimes empty with one. And sometimes empty with two.
I imagined hanging onto the hand holders on the train and watching things blur past me like I had entered warp. I imagined passing through descending ramps of green, slowly splaying out like deltas into the sea. I imagined the gentle peaceful that comes from seeing tankers and cargo haulers pulling their wares through a gently sparkling sea.
I imagined quiet girls reading in little cafes whose ancient owners have every inch of wall decorated with the exploits of their travels, and cats whose sanitary merit should be questioned. I imagined a place where I could speak to people, and the surprise would be momentary, but I’d ease myself into the conversation as though the onsen water were a bit too hot.
I imagined slinking like a cat through the alleys and byways. I imagined climbing structures at night. I imagined sleepy days, where I’d suddenly grab my papers and run to teach the class. I imagined carrying home a half empty bottle, arms around some complete strangers, and shoes an utter mess.
I imagined knocks at the door, and a smiling boy sitting, splayed out, on my floor. I imagined music pouring from little boxes about the place. I imagined watching light move of its own accord, a kaleidoscope every night.
I imagined the smell of the sea, and the smell of fresh straw, and the smell of old wood. I imagined the smell of wet concrete and clean dirt.

I don’t know if there are such cities. Or if there ever were. Or maybe they were just there for a moment, and I missed them. Maybe they’re somewhere else. Or maybe I’m somewhere else.

There was a place, a little place in Hikone, where I once wanted to live. I wanted to look out the door and smile at the hideous view of a bit of castle wall and some shallows where people could load their boats into the moat. I dreamed of living there, with someone, and being happy and content in that life. That was, in some ways, the most freeing conception that I ever developed. For a time. Now, I’ll wonder. I’ll always wonder. In so many senses, what if I’d moved there? It’s all academic now. Still, it’s interesting to think of a time where there was certainty. To have wanted these things. To have wanted a life.

Even vagueries evade me now.

I cannot find the strength to put feelings to paper. And so, I suppose, I’ll write my dreams. And maybe that will be close enough.