A cassette tape.
A toy ring.
An innocent drawing.
Listening closely
to the echoes of the past,
I quietly gather myself
into my own arms.
A faint trembling
still finds its way to me.
I follow its fragile trace,
and on my lips,
a new song begins to take shape.
Like the whisper of birds,
like the low murmur of the wind.
In the stillness,
I draw a slow, gentle breath,
and I sing—
in my own voice.
The landscape hasn’t changed.
Perhaps
the only thing that has
is the person standing within it.
A familiar road.
A quiet room.
A place once lived in without a second thought.
Nothing should remain there.
And yet,
each time I return,
only those moments
still seem to breathe.
Not to remember.
Not to forget.
Simply,
each step,
each glance,
brings those moments
back to me,
if only
for a little while.
カセットテープ
おもちゃの指輪
無邪気な絵
過去に⽿を溶きせて
私は私をそっと抱きとめる
聞こえるかすかな震え それを頼りに
唇にはあたらしい歌が紡がれる
⿃が囁くように
⾵がうなるように
静けさの中 すうっと
息を吸って
私は歌う
⾃分の声で
