The black leather cover had cracked, and on the yellowing pages, blue ballpoint pen had written large words.
From back to front, Natsume Shiro wrote down his memories, documenting his life.
...
At 74, I couldn't remember things, they said I was becoming dull.
I've grown old. I want to jot down some things.
Shiro doesn't cry. Mom told me not to cry.
...
At 69, Hanako suddenly left. I owe her, why didn't I make it up to her, why didn't I take her to see Mount Fuji.
At 68, Hanako fell ill, she said she wanted to see Mount Fuji. I said I would take her when she got better, but she never did.
At 66, Yuna got into university, I wanted to send her off to school. But the train ticket was too expensive, so I didn't go. She's a good kid.
At 55, I fell off my bike. The metal pin surgery was too expensive, so I didn't have the operation, and I could never ride a bike again.
