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The cold wind cut against her cheeks.
Standing by the window on the thirteenth floor,
she gazed silently into the night.
In the distance, a car horn blared,
and the traffic lights at the intersection turned green.
She exhaled softly.
A white breath dissolved into the darkness.
That station platform.
The freezing air.
The two approaching lights.
With each tick of the clock,
something inside her chest burned away,
bit by bit.
The pain melted,
lost its shape,
and became nothing but emptiness.
*"Live."*
Someone had once said that to her.
But those words were too heavy,
too sharp,
piercing deep into her slender neck.
She had never once been saved.
No one in the world knew this pain.
The wind grew stronger,
brushing through her hair.
Beyond the window,
the frozen ground seemed so far away.
Her fingers gripped the railing.
They trembled.
Just one step.
If she stepped forward,
everything would end.
The pain, the wounds,
the voices, the memories-
all of it.
-At that moment,
a flicker of light danced in the corner of her vision.
At her feet lay a white flower.
Had someone left it there?
Or had the wind carried it?
She picked it up,
and a tiny thorn pricked her fingertip.
There was pain.
She let out a small, breathless laugh.
*"I can still feel pain."*
She inhaled deeply,
lifting her gaze to the night sky.
The clock's hand moved forward once more.
And then,
she quietly closed the window.
ここは私の物語。私の世界。私だけが好きにできる場所。 私の紡ぐ文章が無限に広がって、あなたの頭を蝕む。 私の言葉が、私の文章が、あなたの世界を少しずつ侵していって。 物語は無限大で、物語は切なくて、ぎゅっと抱いてくる。 時には愛撫するように優しく、時には乱暴してくる。 それもまた愛おしいのだ。 それが、国語。 あなたはなんの言語を話すの? いずれにせよ、あなたの物語を知りたい。 あなたの国語は、どれだけ大切なの? 私は、待っているから。