Your Love is on the Brink of Death (1)
Now that one has finally become a grown-up, it is no longer necessary to seek advice from anybody, nor to read their faces but simply, depending on how much money and time, and her own mood, she can just go wherever pleases her.
Such a thought strikes a woman, while she was cantering and gliding in a pleasant mood along the very centre of Shinjuku, where the cosmetic counters, like the outlet of an ice-maker, is flooded with a lot of people. Even though everything seem to be delightful, if anything, owing to some very trivial conflicts sprang up from her mind, she would be dejected, and feel somehow distressed and stay disturbed for quite a while. Occasionally. Yet she grows accustomed to such an emotional turmoil which arrives and leaves as swiftly as a whirlwind. All right. Everything will be all right. She keeps closing and opening her eyes alternately, pauses to regain her breath, and tries to escape from a motley crew of stuffs.
How pleasant the scent is. How superb vanity is. Nice bottles and nice bodies, and these nice handbags. Everything – nice form, nice colour, nice eyes, nice ambition seen from their nice hair.
Every woman at the cosmetic counters are either inspecting all around, or peeping into the mirror, while holding their tiny, numerous irresistible ‘nice’ items, or even few times more than those. But when they examine the piece they selected, the corners of their lips are equally pulled up, slanted to radiate what is so-called a smile. Every woman are smiling.
The woman, who is about to sit on a solid chair with a shape like white cream, is giving a smile to a salesperson, too. And keeps saying something like “Um”. She pretends to be looking around the newly-arrived products. But new ones are always launched every week, so when she recalled the number of cosmetics left without being used to the very end, her cheeks flushed a little crimson.
[To be continued]
[Featured image taken by James on 25th March, 2016 at Tokyo]