flower.
I am so sad, beautiful and intense.
Any word.
I've never seen it before.
It's someone from a faraway foreign land.
So as not to forget.
So as not to lose.
To remember something.
To keep something.
It was a mother tongue that was deeply and earnestly engraved on his body.
And that's what drove me to that distant foreign land.
I was determined to see it.
I had to see it.
It was just one word.

--- p.17

The Ave Maria, which was spreading like a mist through the night air, was moving into a spiritual dimension.
that.
like that.
It was like sitting still and sobbing.
It felt like a silent comfort, like someone was crying on my behalf.
In the pause between notes.
Like a detached mind that suddenly comes upon a weak being who cannot do anything on his own at the moment he gives up on being saved.
Like the inner self of a cripple who has decided to accept the hopelessness of life as a sacrifice.
In the midst of sounds that seem to be about to break and yet continue on.
I was able to forget the pain, even if only for a moment.
no.
Because of that transcendent beauty that is draped like a heavenly net.
The sorrow of being thrown into this world comes in twice as much.
The pain in my body, which I had momentarily forgotten, came rushing in even more intensely.

--- p.15

Some music pours out like tears.
I do not allow investigations that are obviously going to be frivolous.
Like a book that leaves you feeling overwhelmed just by reading a few lines.
But with properties different from what the text conveys.
I have always wanted to write in clear language about this abstract materiality, about its beauty that cannot be put into words.
But trying to say what cannot be said always ends in failure.
What music is flowing in your heart?
I felt that it was my calling to express in words the tones and colors that flowed as overtones in my heart.

--- p.23

I think that I owe a lot to music for being who I am today.
It has been a long-time refuge, a friend with whom I can share silent conversations, and a medium that has awakened within me the sparks that burn within me, the swaying dance, the bursting tears. Music has awakened emotions in me that I didn't even know existed.
I've always hoped to experience an emotional experience in music that would make me want to burst into tears, a feeling of elation that would make me feel like I could fly infinitely.

--- p.57

One morning you seem a little lonely, tired and worn out.
It seems like you just want to give up on life and that you don't care how life goes.
You have lived with a drifting mind.
You have been secretly struggling against the dark and heavy energy that colors your heart and trying not to be consumed by it.
that.
Life has no meaning.
It cannot simply be said to be meaningless.
You are in illusion and vanity.
I feel in this music that small yet huge beings are by your side, waiting for you to speak to them.

--- p.58

I lingered on the sentence that only eyes accustomed to elm trees see their absence.
I thought about it in a way that overlapped with Plato's allegory of the cave.
To a person chained in a cave, the shadows on the wall are reality.
Is it possible that something called an illusion is truly an illusion?
Letting go of everything you thought you knew.
It means believing and accepting what you see with your mind's eye with the same weight and moving forward.

--- p.95

okay.
I know that everyone is a little crazy, that everyone has a weird side, that everyone has bad habits they want to give up but can't, that their lives are sustained by those bad habits and the repeated failures of self-correction, that everyone has a funny and sad side somewhere, that you and I are individual beings who cannot be confined to the simple and violent categories of normal and abnormal.

--- p.99

One day, you are walking aimlessly along the street with an unbearable sadness, and you stop in front of a crosswalk at a busy intersection.
Waiting for the green light.
No longer able to walk out on your own will.
at that time.
In the midst of too much noise, too many people, and too much life.
You witnessed yourself dying alone and isolated.
Because in that moment, indescribable sadness swallowed up indescribable sadness.
You were abandoned in the middle of the street, becoming something that escaped sorrow.
Suddenly, you are separated from the commonness of this world because of your secret feeling that no one understands you.

--- p.105

I've always wanted to know the mystery of words that captivate me.
Furthermore, about the unknown coincidence of causality that leads us to encounter the mystery attached to that word.
Just as I had wished since I was very young, I became a writer.
Deep in the morning, writing.
When I hold onto the desk and bite my lip without realizing it because of my sore back.
I used to think that I had become a person who willingly accepted punishment.
In some pain.
I wondered why people try to suppress and erase the hardships of reality by using the more specific word for the body, pain, instead of the mental word, suffering.

--- p.126

Writing begins with personal loneliness and illness.
Whether it is outwardly apparent or not, writing emerges from the most vulnerable point within an individual.
On a blank sheet of paper.
suddenly.
Like a groan.
What pains, what deficiencies, what wounds.
The point to which the writing advances is the depths of the individual's greater loneliness and illness, the gaping abyss that is still unknown even to the individual.

--- p.145

That which comes to us when we look into the depths of our being.
What are the words that are both painful and infinitely soaring?
When a poem speaks, in the silence between its lines, what I cannot say in my own language.
When you read and reread, find and find again all those blank spaces and margins.
Perhaps you too have your own language, and so you wake up alone in the dead of night and put those unspoken words onto a blank sheet of paper.

--- p.168

Perhaps it is only when humans reach the darkest and lowest place that they discover the dark light of life before and after, beyond my place to your place.
There are faces that gently embrace someone else's wounds by simply revealing themselves as they are, without any intention or exaggeration.
Yet, if you follow the steps of the sentences that say, “I survived, survived, and am surviving again,” you will eventually find yourself clinging tightly to life.

--- p.171

Writing without really trying to find a topic or material, without knowing what you are writing about.
While maintaining a love for life.
Endlessly calling out talent and courage.
It means writing little by little on a regular basis on an ongoing basis.

--- p.223