The reason why I am able to survive in this world will not be luxury material goods, power, position and honor, nor even ideals and beliefs, nor can I rely on poisonous illusions. But those hopeless bottomless holes, those erosive and violent darkness, those clammy and sticky pains, why can we continue to struggle in this hot blackness just because of a little bit of hope and reluctance? My blood is so cold, so cold that I don't want to breathe the air for another second. My blood is so hot, so hot that it can boil with just the touch of a look and the warmth between my fingers. Why am I alive? Because...