Miyaki began during a New Year visit, somewhere far from home.
She was just a tiny kitten then, and she didn’t even have a name yet.
Whenever someone tried to pick her up, she would quietly move away. Instead of chasing after her, I simply sat nearby and let her be.
Over the next few minutes, I slowly moved a little closer. I didn’t want to scare her, so I let everything happen at her pace.
One thing about her stayed with me. She wanted to meow, but almost no sound came out. She would open her mouth as if she was trying her hardest, but only the faintest little squeak would escape. It was so quiet that you almost had to lean in to hear it.
I stayed at my friend’s house for a couple of days, and by the end of my visit, I had grown attached to her.
When it was time to leave, I decided to bring her home with me. The journey took several hours, and for the first time, she was in a completely new place. It was there that I finally gave her a name: Miyaki.
Not long afterward, I had to leave again and be far from home for an extended time.
That was when I started wondering about her.
Would she remember me when I came back?
Or would she quietly keep her distance until we got to know each other all over again?
Those thoughts became Miyaki.
It’s simply a song about a tiny kitten, a few quiet days together, and the question that stayed with me after I left.
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