Honestly, I don’t even need to place my hand under the raindrops—it’s enough to hear the sound of the rain hitting the ground. That scent rising from the earth with every drop, that breeze accompanying the downpour—even though it’s cold, somehow, it feels warm. I don’t know… Maybe it’s just my imagination, perhaps it’s all an illusion, but I love my quiet self during those times.

In those moments, I become whole—one unified person, without contradictions in thoughts or emotions, holding onto myself with strength and certainty. That’s when I know, no matter how much I change, no matter how I react in different situations, no matter who I am at different times… I am someone who values herself deeply. Even when I hurt myself, even when I yell at myself. Even when I cut off parts of me or lock myself away—I still love myself. Maybe the intensity of that love shifts from time to time, because every time I fear, I become harsh. Every time I worry, I scream. Every time I long for something, I grow angry. And every time I ache with nostalgia, I smile. And in every moment of panic, I stand tall before my weaker self.

And every time I want to lash out, I hold onto the part of me that fears nothing, just so I don’t cause harm.

This… This is the most valuable lesson I have learned, and I still want to move forward, to get even better at it.

But… Here I am, tilting my head back toward the ceiling once again, that strange, indescribable feeling washing over me. I turn my head to the right, then to the left. I slowly lean back into the chair, rocking it gently. Tap… tap… tap… My bare feet make no sound every time they touch the floor, while my breathing echoes in the space around me.

I find myself wondering about this—feeling as though, in this state, I have lent my chair to the person who exists outside this place, just for a moment. And I… I am now the one who resides here, the one who rarely emerges. I watch myself, as if I were a phantom passing through bodies like a shadow.

I am not alone—there is someone standing beside me. But we do not share the same space.

I think… she loves black and always dresses in red. This version of myself, the one I rarely see, is strange. And frightening, too.

But we are the same.

Are we prisoners of ourselves?

Hmm… No, not really. We are simply supporting the self that now rocks this chair.

That is why it’s difficult for me to describe this feeling.

Whenever she hides here, silence engulfs us—because she is quiet by nature.

We just sit here and watch.

Sometimes in my place.

And sometimes… beneath a sky of endless black.

Is it regret that I cannot even lean on myself from time to time, and so silence consumes me? I don’t know. Every time my other self comes to me, I wonder—perhaps it’s a good thing that I’m here, fighting in the shadows. But then, I ask myself again—am I really fighting?

And so, silence engulfs me for a long, long time.

Yet, every time she disappears just as suddenly as she came, I return to my ramblings.

And I forget that feeling.

Is this selfishness?

I am not complaining about being here… but I forget the reason that keeps me here.

Forget it.

I’m tired of this chair being here.

I think I’ll throw it away.

Here I am now, stepping forward with my bare feet, my hands tucked behind my back, swaying with each step.

Ah… I’m just a child.

I understand now.

I understand why I remember nothing.

I am merely a child.

A child who has not yet faced the darkness of the outside world.

I understand this.

I just… cannot accept it.

I long for a giant tree in my place… a beautiful swing I can gently sway on.

Hmm… in truth, I can have that.

Let me stand still for a moment… and close my eyes.

There… a deep breath.

I am imagining a massive tree before me, its branches thick, its leaves lush and green. And on one of those branches, ropes sway—holding up the swing I long to sit on for a while.

Alright… I will open my eyes now… slowly…

And here I am.

Smiling.

I have what I wished for.

A truly enormous tree—waaah…

In this place, once filled with endless white… I now have a towering tree, glowing with its vibrant greenery.

Waaah… even the swing is beautiful.

Here I go, stepping quickly… toward my swing.

Do you see now?

I know that I am a child.

A selfish child.