30 Rain
On the large bed he talked with her about this and that. Beyond the windows of the room it was raining. The crinum blossoms, it appeared, had begun to rot. Just as before, her face seemed to be bathed in the light of the moon, and yet he could not help finding their conversation tedious. Lying on his stomach, he quietly lit a cigarette. It occurred to him that he had been living with her for seven years. He asked himself: Do I still love her? For all his habitual self-reflection, he was surprised at the answer: Yes, I do.”
Ryunosuke Akutagawa