hachiko.

i used to feel like i was writing a letter every night; sometimes silly, sometimes serious, but somehow a correspondence.

i have to confess now it feels more like notes on rolls of parchment; wishful little things sent out with only hope for postage.

it is most probably a weakness to continue to write them.

i am most probably a foolish woman to subsist for so long on hope.

i know this.

but i will most probably still send out that little message in a bottle, every night, too.