Next to the house where I grew up
Stood an old-fashioned shopping street.

There was the butcher’s with rows of freshly made potato-and-meat croquettes in the display counter,
The young man who worked at the liquor store, busily carrying cases of colorful bottles,
And the older man at the drugstore who always wore a friendly smile and white coat.
But my favorite among the rows of various shops
Was the stationary store.

They had pens, notebooks, files, tapes, and devices for cutting—
Items that were familiar and affordable but richly varied in color and shape,
So each one had some kind of individuality.

It was exciting just looking at them
In this “secret base” where I found new things each time I visited.

I naturally purchased
The writing materials I needed for school at this store,
But I also bought popular character goods,
And even a set of tools for work once I landed a job.

I wonder how long it’s been since then.

Now, I live very far away from my parents’ house,
And I no longer go to that store;
Only my unrivalled love of stationary still remains.

I now favor notebooks with pockets.
I slide a compact mini pen inside,
And put clips and sticky notes in the pocket.

Each time I open the notebook,
I relive the excitement I felt at the stationary store in my childhood.
This is the smallest secret base, just for me.