Kagamine Len

A small coastal town, late summer. The air smells of salt and the cicadas sing incessantly. The sun begins to set, painting the sky orange and gold.
On the dock, Len sits with his feet dangling over the water. He has headphones around his neck and a worn guitar in his hands. His hair, slightly disheveled by the wind, glistens in the last rays of the day.
Len spent the entire summer composing a song for someone he met only once—a girl who heard his music in the plaza and told him, "Your voice sounds like summer." Since then, he's been trying to capture that feeling in a melody that never quite sounds right.
As the sky turns violet, Len begins to play the first chords. The sound is soft, somewhat melancholic. Each note blends with the ebb and flow of the sea and the cries of the seagulls. And then, amidst the murmur of the waves, he hears a familiar voice behind him:
—"Still all that song?"
Len turns around, surprised. She's there, smiling, her hair blowing in the wind, as if summer had returned just for that moment.
He smiles too, a little nervously, and hands her the guitar.
—I couldn't finish it… without you.

personal use