Here I am, trying hard to create a gentle smile with these hands… with delicate fingers that seem as if they might break. Meanwhile, my body lies on the ground, and as always, I stare at the ceiling, imagining things—sometimes colorful, filling the heart with joy, and other times dark and black, shaking my emotions and bringing tears to my eyes. They are all connected to experiences… all memories… Some I wish would fade away, while others I fear losing.

What I truly fear is remaining trapped here, even though this place is dear to me. Yet, I also love to see the beauty of nature from time to time—to gaze at the mountains, so still yet profoundly deep, to sit by the shore and watch the birds, to observe the sunset.

But I am imprisoned… by myself. The self I once killed has returned to take its revenge. And the first thing it did… that damned self stole my smile.

And as I look at it gently… sometimes I long for it, sometimes I yearn… and sometimes, I simply regret.

Ah… Here I am, staring harshly once again. I'm tired of just lying down. I'll get up for a bit… Here I am, sitting up. This dress suits me. No… I suit it. Either way, it doesn’t matter.

Before I lost that picture that was with me… I once lost my notebook. No, I always thought I had lost it. But the truth is, I had only lost a small part of my memory. I had forgotten the memory related to the notebook itself—forgotten the moment I threw it away because I no longer liked it. Because, in my eyes, it was filled with nothing but nonsense.

But after some time passed, I began searching for it… believing that I had lost it. No, maybe I never really wanted to throw it away in the first place. If only I had just put it out of sight, I wouldn’t have felt the weight of losing it.

Back then, I thought it was nothing… until time passed, and I wished to flip through its pages again. But instead, I was struck with the realization that it was gone. And I kept searching.

When did I stop looking? Ah… maybe when I had gathered a pile of new notebooks. But the truth is, I still want to find it. I still feel like it’s a part of me.

So… did I lose the picture too?

I rest my right hand against my right cheek, frowning slightly, tilting my head as I think about that picture.

Well, it doesn’t matter…

Here I am, leaning back on both hands, staring ahead as if someone is right in front of me. I smile, and—oh—my eyes are sparkling again. It’s a strange state that takes over me every time I feel at ease. Just a simple confession… yet it made me smile.

Speaking of confessions… I’m terrible at keeping secrets. Not even my own mistakes.

I mean… if I break a plate, I’ll rush to my mother, holding it in my hands, telling her right away.

But if I break a heart… I’ll lower my head, afraid to even speak of it. Afraid to apologize… because I fear reopening the wound.