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ラリマ

ラリマ

夢の中で痛過ぎて起きました…当然、汗だくでパジャマがビショビショ(T . T)

My mind is being taken over by the loss of my pet and the pain of illness.

GRAVITY1
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美穂∈(*)∋

美穂∈(*)∋

I once trusted silence too much.
Believed in the innocent whisper of my own body,
a gamble placed on a quiet afternoon,
a soft chair,
and misplaced confidence.
It began as a thought:
This will be nothing.
A harmless breeze,
a ghost of a fart,
a joke only my intestines would know.
But life,
that cruel comedian,
had already written the punchline.
What escaped was not air alone,
but betrayal.
A warmth that carried meaning.
A truth that could not be taken back.
In that instant,
time folded in on itself.
Pride collapsed.
Humanity revealed its fragile seams.
I stood there—
a philosopher without answers,
a hero without pants,
understanding at last
that control is an illusion.
Kings have fallen for less.
Empires for more.
But me?
I fell to a silent fart
and a small, tragic leak of destiny.
And yet—
there is poetry in humiliation.
Wisdom in the stain we never planned for.
Because everyone walks this earth
one bad decision away
from learning humility the hard way.
So laugh if you must.
I do now.
For I have stared into the abyss,
and the abyss smelled suspiciously familiar.
GRAVITY1
GRAVITY2
夜暇

夜暇

Taken in China's Arxan National Forest Park on October 2, 2025
2025年10月2日、中国・アルシャン国家森林公園にて撮影
GRAVITY
GRAVITY2
kuwon.

kuwon.

Taken from Live in Tokyo /Bruno Pronsato

#音楽をソッと置いておく人
GRAVITY

Taken from Live in Tokyo

Bruno Pronsato

音楽の星音楽の星
GRAVITY
GRAVITY3
グライム  (初見)

グライム (初見)

#京都府 #下京区 #梅小路公園 #芝生広場
#スマホで撮影

1月7日に梅小路公園で撮影しました 📸

The photo was taken at Umekoji Park on
January 7th.
GRAVITY

AOKI,hayato

笑って生きていこの星笑って生きていこの星
GRAVITY4
GRAVITY56
Ася

Ася


Long time no see~
A small life update: I’m now a penetration engineer, and honestly, I’m really happy about it.

Sometimes I catch myself thinking—I wish you could know the fuller version of me.

I wish you had known me at five.
Back then, I was pure sunshine. Loud joy, obvious eagerness to be seen. I greeted every neighbor with a sweet smile, volunteered to recite poems and dance during holidays without being asked.
Now, I need a long mental warm-up just to speak in public.

I wish you had known me at fourteen.
I was sharp-edged, almost feral. I argued with my math teacher over a solution, red-faced and stubborn, because I believed truth mattered more than keeping the peace.
Now, before I disagree, I take several careful turns in my head.

I wish you had known me at eighteen.
The girl who replayed the same song at midnight, filled notebooks with cryptic words, and believed—without needing reasons—in love. Her joy and sorrow were both dramatic, ceremonial.
Not like now, where I quietly organize my emotions and keep them neat.

It’s not that I dislike who I am today.
On the contrary, I really do like myself now.
But every once in a while—just once in a while—I miss those versions of me: the lively one, the sharp one, the melancholic one.

When I meet someone I truly click with, I can’t help thinking:
If only we had met earlier. Then we could have walked alongside each other for much longer.
You would’ve seen that the light in my eyes isn’t just politeness—it also carries something untamed.
You would know that my brightness doesn’t come only from experience, but from an unpolished sincerity.
You would understand how much past passion is hidden inside my gentleness.

And one more thing—I hate goodbyes.
I hate that everyone leaves carrying only a fragment of me.
It makes me feel like a book taken apart: one chapter with you, another with someone else, never whole.
I don’t want to be a book in pieces.

See? I’m greedy.
With new friends, I wish they could know me sooner.
With old friends, I wish they would never leave.

I know, though, that none of those versions of me ever disappeared.
They all live inside who I am now.
The courage of my five-year-old self still lets me meet the world with sincerity.
The sharpness of fourteen gives me boundaries beneath my softness.
The sensitivity of eighteen allows me to feel how complex—and fascinating—humans are.

Like rain from different seasons flowing into the same river:
the liveliness of early spring,
the intensity of midsummer,
the calm of late autumn—
all of it becomes the river in the end.

So I tell myself this:
Maybe new friends can glimpse my past through who I am now.
Maybe old friends can imagine my future through who I am now.
And the friends I’ve lost along the way—
perhaps they’re living happily in parallel timelines, carrying one version of me with them.
GRAVITY
GRAVITY18
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