I wrote this in 2014, the year I read 1Q84. Indeed this poem makes me think of Tengo and Aomame.

The memory is so clear, even now—the chill of the water on our feet, the musky scent of the night air mingling with your perfume. Each step I take here, between the pull of the tide and the faint glow of the moons, feels like tracing the outline of a prayer.

I still recall the warmth of your hand in mine, how your fingers tightened just enough to say, I am here, I am with you, even in this vastness. And when you leaned close, your breath a soft confession against my ear, I knew then that some loves are not bound by time or distance. They simply are—unchanging, like the stars above us.

Sometimes, in the silence between waves, I almost hear your laughter again, feel the ghost of your touch. It’s a sweet kind of sorrow, knowing that what we had was too beautiful to ever truly end.

You are still here, in the salt on the air, in the constancy of the tide. And I will keep walking this shore, until the last moon falls from the sky.