I think I left my Christmas in Japan, its missing.
Miss. Hello, Miss. I Miss you. Are you Missing? I am missing. I am MISSing. Missing Japan. Meaning, it is gone and I can't find it. Its somewhere on a spinnig globe, an arms-span away on a map, but so far and currently unreachable that I wonder if it even still exists... Nihon. The place my heart was humbled. The land of the rising sun, the land where I discovered what love could do to a wounded soul. Be still, my soul. It was something about the uphill bike rides on a turquoise mamachadi in the core-peircing cold of December. On a humid island that did not remember the reason for Christmas. Many did not remember Christ. It was something about ping-ponging the intercom in hopes of someone opening the door just long enough to hear the silent night duet of you and your companion renditioned over and over and over and over to an unseen, unheard, possibly nonexistent audience behind grey metal doors. The kind without wreaths. It was something about ra