The Draft of Ruins

One. When your memory comes suddenly...
tears fill my eyes, my breath grows heavy.

In the depths of your chest...
a small corner I thought was mine alone—
that's what I believed.

Why do I torment myself with such thoughts?

Two. You were right—without you, I become terribly restless. However strong I pretend to be, I'm nothing of the sort.

I truly couldn't keep myself whole. Just as I couldn't forget you, couldn't diminish the desire to touch you...all of it was pure indulgence.

What did I actually manage?

Three. After how much waiting can we touch something beautiful? I didn't know the answer either.

That day, it wouldn't have been wrong to hold me close. Take me back. We'll never see each other again.

Four. When a person slowly withdraws into themselves...reality begins to appear differently to their eyes.

The person who would have shattered into pieces from the slightest neglect...is now busy rebuilding himself!

For most people, feelings remain unable to find words. Am I then among those who have broken through this silence?

Transforming feeling into language is the reflection of a mind scattered and frantic—people generally prefer to express their thoughts in simple ways. But scattered imagination divides the brain into small compartments, each crammed with vast emotion. And when they rush forward at abnormal speed, chasing arrival—that's when disaster strikes.

Perhaps a person never truly escapes from this, never will—so addicted are they to this game that every earthly reality, including the very thought of escape, becomes utterly trivial in their sight. Of all the great creations in the world, most are infinitely human, profoundly deep.

Did creation itself begin this way?