But how could I admit loneliness? Even if there is only blackness around me that is as thick as blood that gushes out and clumps from a cut vein, it is so thick that it cannot be melted away; even if that day I wrote "I heard the sound of rain in the small building last night, and I woke up from the dream and asked about the begonias in front of the window", each word is like chewing a bitter lotus flower. But the young man's pride and his stubbornness are like the only rope and the only light, omnipotently creating a mirage of bliss.
Well, when the boy looked at the pages of the book, they were obviously pale, so I was not lonely.
--Yeah?
But who is deceiving whom in life?
Conception: