(I had the idea of Rin writing a letter, post neutral end.  So here it is.  KSFFWriter@gmail.com)
 
Hello.
 
It has been a while.  I think it has been a long time.
 
I went to the school.  The one Sae and Teacher wanted me to go to.  He isn't my teacher anymore, so Nomiya.  The school is fine and big.  There aren't many trees and the halls and rooms are smaller and people look at me a lot.  Because of my arms not being there.  Do people still look at you?
 
Emi called me yesterday.  She talked about you but I made her talk about other things.  But she told me to talk to you.  So I am writing because writing is better than talking.  But I have to write fast before I stop myself so if there are mistakes I did not meant them.
 
Talking is hard for me.  I think I told you this before.  It is getting easier.  Not really talking but saying nothings.  Sae says it is important to know how to say nothing.  She taught me how to answer questions about art.
 
It's easy.  Just talk without saying things.  People ask me all the time how I do it.  I tell them with my feet.  That is a true answer.  But they ask what the things mean and I can't tell them that.  Do you remember asking me before?
 
So I do what Sae said.  I say things people like to hear.  This is my pain.  This is my torment.  This is how I feel about no arms.  This is the sky or this is the clouds or things like that.  This is love.  This is hate.
 
They like hearing those things.  So I say them and they take the paintings and they give Sae money.  Sae handles my money now mostly.  She says I make a lot and people like my art.
 
I don't like it anymore.  I paint for Sae but it's not painting like I used to.  It doesn't say anything.  It's just colors.
 
Nomiya gets some of the money too.  He is happy that I am an artist.  My parents say they are proud of me.  Sae says I'm good for business and the school teachers say I am good in my classes.
 
I feel like one of those people that has sex for money.  I don't do that though.
 
Do you know that kind?  Or that feeling?  I can't write a feeling.
 
You used to look at my paintings and ask about them.  I wouldn't be able to tell you and you would be mad at me.  But you looked, so that was important.  I couldn't say the painting was love or it was hate or it was my arms.  You wouldn't believe me if I said that.  I think you heard a little bit.
 
My painting now is like whispering secrets in a crowded room.  No one hears and if they ask I have to lie.  Painting for you was different.  It was shouting in the rain.  Really thick no that's not right.  Really heavy rain where even if you yell only some of it gets heard.  But at least some of it does.
 
I miss yelling to you, Hisao.
 
Sometimes I think about the time in the atelier.  When you helped me with your hands.  That was a good time and I didn't forget it like I said I would.  I can't for some reason.  I also remember the oranges and the cigarettes and everything else.  I tried to forget but I can't.
 
I took some paints home and I painted what I remembered.  It was okay.  It doesn't look good and no one will buy it but it is okay.  A friend hung it on my wall.  I like it there.
 
I told you I was leaving and to forget about me.  I hope you didn't.  It would still be easier if you hate me but I hope you don't anyway.
 
I would like you to visit me.  You can look at the painting.  I will talk about what it means and I won't lie or get mad.  You can bring oranges if you want or you can kiss me a few times maybe I am not sure after I wrote that but maybe.
 
My address is on the envelope.  I want to see you and talk to you.  Just one more time if you didn't forget me.  You are the only one that hears me.
 
-Rin