I always felt like I should keep writing.
Writing is more of a feeling than typing.
I can't put it into words.
It's the contact between the tip of the pen and the paper, it's the friction, it's the force, it's the contact between the hand and the paper.
Or whatever.
Maybe it's better to change your shape.
It's not a cold single text.
I've always felt that keeping writing is a kind of self-pleasing, a release.
What the mobile phone recorded is far less than what you really see, it is a record, and it is also a miss.
But what is such a record, is it proof, less than 1 in 10,000, but never tired of it, is it?
I do not know. Put me on a whim.
* Settle my desire to share.
I always felt like I should record it.
Every flash of service deserves to be recorded.
But I also want to resonate with the world.
Why. Despite being silly.
Don't speculate that it's too noisy, too noisy, too messy.
Output: Whether it should be ready.
I often feel inexplicable and ever-changing.
Is longing a luxury Why should we measure hesitation and scrutiny.
What am I thinking? Which one is me and which one is not me?
Seeing a back Whose Are You Still Me Once Upon a Time Or Is It Now God's Perspective What is the feeling?
Step forward and hold on.
Whether there is a window.
Through the window, the sun was shining brightly, or the kind of dazzling but warm light.
It's still a bright, quiet, quiet moonlight.
Whether the window is open or not.
Whether the wind happens to blow the pale yellow curtains.
Whether to stop or not to capture.
Whether it is eternal or not. Is this an untouchable dream?
Why the explanation is active is fear.
Why is it inexplicable on a whim.
Maybe. It doesn't have to be non-existent.
What the hell is it that is waved away.
I'm like. Not for a long time.
Quietly. Talk to yourself.