3 is just that among them, I cannot choose what kind of change again,

And what kind of good is in and out of that change,

with what is bad. Pen ~ fun ~ pavilion www.biquge.info

What is there is what is produced there,

There is also the general thing that there was not to be able to produce there.

Just listening quietly there,

I heard it all the time.

In the midst of that belief and unbelief,

It's just that in the midst of that trouble,

It's been staggered all the time,

And in the midst of that intermingling,

It seems impossible,

It seems that there is no way to avoid it,

With nothing to hide.

Just troubled in it,

It's as if a person lives a lifetime,

Troubles are also accompanied by a lifetime.

It seems so to speak, unless dead,

Otherwise, in that journey of life, we will not be able to get rid of the entanglement of life's troubles.

And the one who is alive,

It is a time of constant struggle between problems and difficulties and troubles.

And in the midst of that struggle,

Constantly looking for a way out in it,

What kind of new and forgotten way out,

That's what kind of impatience is there,

It's like there's endless end,

And it seems that there is nothing felt and perceived in it,

Still there nostalgic,

It seems to be something cracking there, too.

I just felt a kind of disgust and boredom in it.

What kind of powerlessness arises in it,

It's as if some kind of perception, feeling, and strength have disappeared from that life.

Everything is intertwined in it,

Everything seems to be in chaos there,

That's a terrible gap.

What is there is that escaped there in general,

There is something general that is impossible there, too.

There the gap and the difference became too big there.

And in the midst of that very big gap and difference,

I felt a kind of triviality,

Also in the midst of that trivial emotions and knots,

What is there is tolerable there,

There seems to be something that I can't tolerate there, too.

It's a kind of completely unknown,

In the midst of the unknown and the unaware,

is a kind of quiet listening,

and in the midst of which I listened silently,

I want to listen attentively in it,

And in the midst of listening,

I felt a kind of silence in general,

It's as if you can't feel any kind of sound there.

I can no longer feel any kind of cherishment and pity in it.

It's a constant change.

Just felt a kind of envy there,

Just felt a kind of friendliness there.

In that friendliness, I felt a kind of sadness and sadness.

It was a pair of eyes that remembered in the sun,

Also in those eyes,

It also exudes the warmth of memories,

It's just that in the paralysis of that memory,

What kind of anesthesia are you looking forward to,

But in the midst of that paralysis,

Looking forward to some anesthesia.

It's just that what is there is gone,

It's as if it's in the midst of vanishing, and it's there that you can't find it anymore.

It's like there's something completely empty and blank in it,

Many, many things,

It's all something that can't be won there,

It seems that it is difficult to trace and recall something in it,

Just trembling in the midst of it,

It also seems to have been forgotten and forgotten there.

It's just that in the midst of that torment and pain,

I hope that what kind of care can stop torturing people there,

No more tormenting her lonely and easily wounded heart.

Because the new is prone to injury there,

And because the heart is fragile there,

It's as if you're struggling in the midst of it, and you're so weak and weak,

In the midst of that struggling powerlessness,

I don't want to pay attention to anything anymore.

There is also something that is out there and no longer wants to pay attention to something,

It is a silent oblivion in it.

But I found something wrong.

It's just something that was quiet there,

It is as if his own life and all life were swallowed up and swallowed up in it by the deep roar.

It's as if you feel your life being swallowed up in it.