いちごジュースで待ち合わせ

There's a special kind of nostalgia - sticky, pinkish, with a hint of strawberry and embarrassment. When you think you've finally let go, and then you accidentally find an old photo booth picture - the one where you're both smiling foolishly and not fully in the frame. And it feels a bit awkward about my past self, but still warm. Because in that "then," everything was too sincere not to remember. Now, instead of scared hearts, there are neat, neutral words, and instead of a trembling voice, there's a calm tone, as if nothing ever happened. Only the skin is a little drier, the brain has gotten smarter, and the order at the cafe is invariably the same: strawberry juice. A child's sweetness that washes down an adult's ability to pretend everything is fine.