The Decay of the Angel - Yukio Mishima

20
TŌRU OCCASIONALLY wrote to Kinué, and got
long answers. He had to be careful when he opened
them, because each one contained a pressed flower
for the season. Sometimes she would apologize for
having sent a hothouse flower, there being no
wildflowers in bloom.
Wrapped in paper, the flower would be like a dead
butterfly. There was pollen for wing dust, letting one
imagine that when it lived it had flown. Dead wings
and dead petals are the same. The remembrance of
color that has flown through the sky, and the
remembrance of color in stillness and resignation.
Only after reading the letter did he recognize one
fragment, dry and brown like the skin of an Indian,
strong red threads torn and jagged from having been
pressed flat, as the petal of a red hothouse tulip.
The letters were the endless confession she had
brought to the signal station. And she always offered
in much detail a description of her loneliness for Tōru
and her wish to come to Tokyo. He always replied that
she must be patient, however many years passed. He
would find an occasion to summon her.