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

There was the butcher's, with rows of freshly fried croquettes lined up in the display case.
The young man at the liquor store, always busy carrying crates of colourful bottles.
The pharmacist, an older man in a white coat with a warm smile.
Among all the shops lining the street,
My favourite by far was the stationery store.

Pens, notebooks, files, tape, craft knives —
Familiar, affordable items, yet so varied in colour and shape
That each one seemed to hold its own personality.

Just looking at them filled me with excitement.
It was my secret hideout, where I'd discover something new every time I visited.

I bought not only all my school stationery there,
But also the trendy character goods,
And even the set of tools I prepared
When I landed my first job.

I wonder how many years it's been since then.

These days I live far from my parents' home,
And I no longer visit that store —
But my love of stationery remains as strong as ever.

Lately, my favourite is a notebook with pockets.
I tuck a compact mini pen into it,
And keep clips and sticky notes in the pockets.

Every time I open the notebook,
That same excitement I felt as a child in the stationery store comes rushing back.
This is my own tiny secret hideout.