The House of Nirvana

: Will you take me into yourself, Nest, in the depths of your eyes, in the warmth of your lips, or against the cage of your ribs? I will dissolve into your restlessness, and in both our breathing, unexpressed emotions will merge intensely.

: Your touch holds such madness that it makes the feeling of love unbearable.

: Ah! Your form has created extraordinary bliss in my heart, again and again.

: Since touching you, nothing earthly pulls at me anymore, no one's love attracts me.

: I've heard that writers have very sharp intuition. Can you then understand—the death-throes of my silently weeping desires?

: Do you hear? What are you trying to say by bloodying yourself like this, over and over?

: Love's self-sacrifice is nothing special.

: The spell of impossibly beautiful melodies would awaken our love each day. I wanted to go back centuries with you. I want only to feel you until death.

: Time passes in indifference, as if all my years belong only to you! Your breath taught me to understand life's meaning anew.

: You are heaven's restless blue-throated bird, thinking of whom dying people continue seeking happiness. I had the privilege of touching and feeling this terrifyingly beautiful person who stops hearts from beating. You are the unattainable happiness of this one life of mine.

: What's happened to you? Did you truly not know—you are the web of inertia's spell?

: What does your 'third eye' say? How much longer can I remain alive?

: Some illness, even that can separate me from you!

: I have nothing to give you. I didn't want this much helplessness.

: You have everything; perhaps you never realized it before.

: Don't say that. I am so little. I'll sink the moment you look back.

: In your eyes, how much of my final emotion is revealed?

: Exactly as much as my ribs have worn away.

: Why don't you want to erase me?

: Clearly, besides trying to heal wounds, I don't have the audacity to cast away.

: I am entirely in all your writing! Or rather, all your writing is me.

: Well, did you write this way even before we met?

: I've heard that intense love can carry a person's soul to infinite power. In search of that purest feeling, I found only you.

: If I say—I love you impossibly, will you accept it?

: Perhaps writing needs an abundance of words, it's necessary to bind oneself in habit; but I have none of these. I only have one 'you,' which exists nowhere else.

So in my writings, there is 'only you,' according to this empty mind's whims. Your touch taught me to write. Where would I have found that before, tell me?

: Each of your writings creates deep feelings in my heart.

: Let 'November Rain' witness the best moment of our lives.

: In my perception, you are terribly shrouded in the deluge of pain today. My hands tremble, trying to give you form in words.

: You know, your writings are precious documents of our love.

: Having burned myself almost to nothing, still my existence's emergence in your chest remains firm. Look, 'November Rain' waits for us.

: On the other side of your door I've left some clamor of words that captured the finest moments of my life. The moments of our love are kept in this diary. When I die, keep it with great care. It holds my final touch.