Author: Yu Miri
themes
- rain as the weight of sadness, seeping in everywhere
- poverty as creating sinners, lead you into cycle of sin
Summary
notes
That day—time has passed. Time has ended. But that time is scattered here and there like spilled pushpins. As I am unable to take my eyes away from that glance at sad ness, all I can do is suffer- Time does not pass. Time never ends.
I think he was looking for someone. Someone who would listen. If I had asked, I’m sure he would’ve told me anything. If I had shown him that I was ready to listen—Or if we’d had one or two more cups of warm sake—he would have told me what mistake he’d made, and something like friendship could have developed between us; but those who hear another’s secret are obliged to share one of their own. Secrets are not necessarily hidden things. Events that do not bear hiding become secrets when one chooses not to speak of them.
To speak is to stumble, to hesitate, to detour and hit dead ends. To listen is straightforward. You can always just listen.
cloudy, or raining; whether it is morning, or noon, or night; whether it is spring, or summer, or autumn. Redouté, the man who painted these roses, died over a hundred seventy years ago. And the rose bushes that he studied are more than likely no longer living either. But once, somewhere, those roses were in bloom. And once, somewhere, a painter lived. And now, through these pieces of paper divorced from the reality of the past, like fantastical flowers that do not exist in our world, these roses bloom.