Collection of Typos, Weekly Short-Short Note, 410 Characters
Once again today, letters were dancing on the paper on my mother's desk.
The flowers bloomed in the garden
It seems like it is cold today
The kanji were gone, and the hiragana were so distorted they were barely readable. The handwriting of my mother, who was once a teacher, was no longer there.
So she wouldn't see, I secretly corrected the typos with a red pen. Then, in the blank space, I wrote, "Well done."
Just as my mother used to do for me when I was a child.
This is my own quiet little pleasure. A ritual to remember the mother I once knew.
One day, there was only one sentence written on the paper.
You are the only one I don't want to forget. I don't want to make any mistakes.
The letters were not trembling. The punctuation was in the correct place.
The typos that were always somewhere to be found were nowhere to be seen that day.
I couldn't move for a while, still holding the red pen.
That correctly spelled line pierced my heart like an arrow.
I gripped the red pen again and wrote next to it.
Even if you make mistakes, even if you forget, it's okay.
For the first time, I returned a reply to my mother with the red pen.