The Season of Delusion

Part of my soul, by nature, wants to grip someone fiercely and hold on—
I have never found such a person.

Yet sometimes, by mistake, it seemed... you were that one. Was it only my delusion?

In a moment, those strange eyes became clear before me! I discovered in your body the same invisible affliction that lives in mine, one from which escape did not come easily. Since then, I have wounded myself so many times that I forgot—it hurts me too.

Only stones are without feeling.
Unmoved even by terrible blows; or the time it takes to break them is no small matter—
these days, people have no patience to give each other that much time.

It seems to me that with your consent, I wrote myself into the pages of a story riddled with mere mistakes—there is no need for this anymore.

If fortune smiles, then certainly I will find that writer—are you that person? No, you are not, are you?