Character: Hajime

Everything that has form can disappear in an instant.

Can nine times to hit the target, and on the tenth to find what you have above... which is not the case.

She never whined, never complained. Face gave no her - Shimamoto was always smiling, even when she was sad. And the heavier, the wider the smile.

Sometimes I look at you and think I see a distant star. She shines so bright, but the light from it is tens of thousands of years. May be, and the stars are already there. And he's still real. So real... more Real than nothing happens.

But I live some else's life. If someone has prepared all for me, life itself has prepared. A lot of it in me from me? Where is the line that I'm me and her - not me?

... truly beautiful women in bars alone do not go. They flirting men are not a joy, but a burden.

I like back to childhood, was again a twelve year old boy who could spend hours just looking at the rain. Look - and in my head the emptiness, the body slowly soften, and you like a break from reality. There in the rain some kind of hypnotic power.

She shouldn't have say that to me. There are words that remain in my heart for life.

There is a reality that confirms the reality of the situation. The fact that our memory and senses are imperfect and one-sided. To what extent is really what we believe is real? Where it begins "a reality that we believe to be reality"?

All live differently, in different ways and die. But it doesn't matter. After us there is only desert. Desert and nothing more.

Cost on the horizon to appear to such a person, I just wanted to come and say "Hey! I know everything about you. No one knows, and I know."

My life felt like I want to become a different person. I was drawn to new places, I wanted to grab a hold of a new life, change yourself. How many such attempts. In a sense, I grew up on myself, changed a person. Becoming others, hoping to rid himself still, with all that I had. Seriously believe that you will be able to achieve this. You just have to try. But it didn't work out. I myself remained, whatever. Something in me was missing - and now is not enough. Nothing added. Around everything can change, people's voices can sound different, and I'm still unfinished. Still the same fatal flaw ignites in me a hunger, tormented by thirst. And they are not to quench, to satisfy. Because in a sense it is a disadvantage - I did. That's what I understood.

I would be able to cry, maybe it wouldn't be so hard. But why cry? And for whom? Why cry about others? To do this, I've got too much ego.

Wonderful thing these magazines! Can a person in one moment to celebrate, and then BAM! and everyone forgot about you.