令和８年2月19日（木）
久しぶりに日記ページ作った お気にの電車がよく来るようになってそっちに夢中になり家のこともあまりやらずに英語の勉強もあまりやらずに
家のことも英語の勉強も興味が薄れたわけじゃない 特に英語は電車で移動中は必ず何か学習している ようは時間が足りないのだ 動画編集、今までいやいややっていた感じがあったが最近は楽しくできる だから数時間そのために時間を使っているのすら気が付かなかったりする
良いのだか悪いのだか
昨日久しぶりに横川に行った 良いお天気で気持ち良かった ただ滞在した時間はわずかだった
せっかく来たのにすぐ帰るなんてもったいない感じだった でも行かないと次の電車に間に合わず だったのでね 駅そばも峠の釜めしも食べたかったが本当に何もできなかった
前日は電車のダイヤが乱れてかなり予定が狂った
今日も同じ電車を撮るために動く
大宮到着すると昨日と同じような感じがした 再び電車遅れているのだ
京浜東北線に乗って並走動画を狙っていたのだが中止にした
急遽大宮駅で配信を始める するとEast iは定刻出来た なんだかなぁ って思う
京浜東北線はダイヤ乱れてないからそのまま乗っていれば予定通りだったのに
ここ数日振り回されてる 結局大宮で配信少しやって帰ることにした
改札出口付近でSuicaチャージをしようと思い機械にスマホを置く 反応せず
別の機械に置く やはり反応しない スマホを再起動する
すると反応した やばいなぁ スマホ壊れてきてる？
サイゼ行ってお昼ごはん 久しぶりにドリア食べた 美味しかった ワインとの相性はgood
その後隣のスーパーに行き姉の食べ物買う
帰宅して冷蔵庫あけると賞味期限が少し切れた食材発見 すぐに料理始める
おでんの素があったのでスープを作る 量が少なかったのでコンソメキューブ一つと水を追加
その後具材を入れる たまごをボイルして茹で卵を作り投入
その間 サラダ４つ作る 久しぶりに台所で動いた
冷凍庫に鶏肉あったから鍋の具が減ってきたら追加で入れることにしよう
なんか食べようかな
今日の絵
When the Snow Fell Between Us
The first time I met Daniel, it was snowing in New York.
Not the heavy kind of snow that silences the world, but the soft, drifting kind that makes everything feel possible.
He was standing outside a small bookstore in Brooklyn, shaking snow from his dark hair and laughing at something his friend had said. I remember thinking that his laugh sounded warmer than the winter air.
We met again inside the store, both reaching for the same copy of Romeo and Juliet.
“You can take it,” he said.
“No, it’s okay,” I replied. “I already know how it ends.”
He smiled. “Maybe this time it ends differently.”
That was how it began.
Daniel was in New York for only three months. An exchange student from London. I was born and raised here, tied to the city like the subway lines beneath it.
We spent our days walking through Central Park, our hands brushing but never quite holding. We shared coffee in paper cups and secrets in quiet corners of crowded cafés.
He told me about the river near his childhood home. I told him about my fear of leaving this city.
Somewhere between the first snowfall and the first thaw, I fell in love with him.
Completely. Quietly. Hopelessly.
The day before he was meant to leave, it snowed again.
We stood at the edge of the park, the city humming behind us. His suitcase waited by the bench.
“Come with me,” he said suddenly. “London isn’t so different. You’d like the rain.”
I wanted to say yes.
I wanted to believe that love was enough to cross oceans.
But my mother was ill. My job had just begun. My whole life was here, rooted deep.
“I can’t,” I whispered.
He nodded as if he had expected it. That hurt the most.
We didn’t kiss dramatically. There was no movie-like confession. Just his forehead resting against mine, snow gathering on our coats.
“Maybe,” he said softly, “in another season.”
“Maybe,” I answered.
He left the next morning.
For weeks, the city felt too large. Every bookstore window reflected only me.
Spring came, as it always does. The snow melted. The air grew lighter.
But sometimes, when winter returns and the first snow begins to fall, I think of a boy from London who once believed stories could end differently.
And I wonder—
If I had turned the page, would we have rewritten ours?
Outside, the snow keeps falling.