An alternate-universe story for The Notebook of Miss Verlaine's Adopted Younger Brother: What if Verlaine had lost her memory?
Three years had already passed...
Rimbaud stood before a gravestone he had chosen with great care, gazing for a long time at the vast, boundless sea beside it.
"My dear friend, you've always loved the ocean... So I hope you'll like it here."
He leaned against the gravestone, reaching out as if he wanted to touch something.
But he knew... there was nothing here...
His dear friend, the lover he loved most, had been buried thousands of miles away three years ago, never to return home in her lifetime.
"Still... you'd be happy, wouldn't you? After all, you hated France most of all."
He struggled to manage a smile, as if trying to chase away the gloom that had lingered on his face, but in the end he failed.
"Poya..."
He murmured his dear friend's name, even wishing for a moment that he could go to heaven and find the one he loved.
But he couldn't.
France still needed him.
A bone-deep chill seemed to surround him. The source of warmth he longed for had long since gone out, for one reason or another.
"That place..."
He carefully chose his words, seeming reluctant to mention the word that made his heart ache whenever he thought of it.
"Yokohama... I hear there's a poet there now. I think you'd like her poems."
A remarkably talented poet had appeared in Yokohama two years ago. He had happened to hear a few lines of her poetry, and those heartfelt words had moved him deeply.
For once, he suddenly thought that his dear friend might find common ground with that poet.
They both possessed a similar, almost inhuman divinity.
"Would you like a book of her poems?"
Rimbaud thought for a moment, then laid the daisies in his hand before the grave.
Do you love me?
Daisies represented love hidden deep in the heart. The answer Rimbaud hoped for was one he would never receive...
Or so he thought!
Rimbaud stared at the person before him, practically dumbfounded.
Yes, he really had come all the way to Yokohama to attend a book signing by the poet who had suddenly risen to fame two years ago.
Just a few days earlier, he had remarked on how much this poet resembled his dear friend, but now...
Resembled her? What was he thinking? They were obviously the same person!
My dear friend! What are you doing, my dear friend?
You didn't return to France. You came here to write books instead?
Rimbaud remained silent for a long time, then realized from Verlaine's reaction that she had probably lost her memory.
(Rimbaud: Not probably. Definitely. She doesn't even recognize me...)
He looked at the blue-eyed, blond woman before him, and suddenly gave her a gentlemanly, affectionate smile.
My dear friend, since you've forgotten everything, let's start over!
And so began the battle of love between Rimbaud and Verlaine.
What? What about France?
Rimbaud: I'm going on strike! Work can't be more important than love!
Written on April 27, 2022
Theme: Love and growth
