When I was little, there was a game I used to play every winter.
I would crawl under the kotatsu, where it was completely dark, and think,
I think I’ll become a butterfly.
Whether I opened my eyes or closed them, it was still completely dark. And somewhere in that blurry space between the two, I would send my consciousness soaring out of my body.
I would leave this body, become a butterfly, sip nectar from flowers, and fly around them.
It was so real that the word imagination doesn’t quite describe it.
After spending some time playing as a butterfly, I would come back.
Then I would crawl out from under the kotatsu and think,
I was born on this Earth, and I’m living in this body.
I’m Sacchan right now.
I would move my fingers, checking again and again, as if to make sure.
I remember doing this in everyday life, too. I would look in the mirror, move my fingers, and quietly remind myself who I was—reassuring myself over and over again.
Why was I a butterfly back then?
The answer would reveal itself in an unexpected way, more than 25 years later.