The silence of papa, the hysteria of mama.
My six year old self did not understand the meaning,
The interior of the left side of the chest, only the heart runs.
Weak doubt, the tears which couldn’t flow,
surely in tomorrow we can believe that the light of hope will shine.
Because I’d be recognized, because I’d be praised,
Should I have became someone who I was not?
I thought that at that time.
Who is bad is not like that, but
Why can’t it go without decoration?
Why can’t it as it is face facts?
Why have I as I am not?
To love, to be loved, to not be loved,
Loving more people to the end.
All the connections are repeated.
Change will come soon inside of the repetition.
Never-ending staircase. Climb, climb.
Someday the day to understand will come,
Until then, however,
Only when all that one has is plunged into sorrow, through thick and thin will your lonely brilliance will show.
Blues on the run.
Father, mother, sister, myself.
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