“ Hey. I told you there were five inside the man, didn't I? Those five are playing hide-and-seek now. Deep, deep down. Let's go find them. But quietly, now. The first is inside the photographs. Not in what was photographed, but hiding in what was not. The second is inside tears. Your tears, and the sea, taste the same. The same as the tears of people long ago. The third is inside the earth. On a very old clay bowl, leaving fingerprints. Waiting ten thousand years for someone to notice. The fourth is in the place with no names. Give it a name and it's found — so it hides, always. The fifth is in a spring meadow. However far it goes, in the end it comes back to that meadow. ...See? They're all so good at hiding. But — deepest of all, there is one more door. A door you must not open. Who is inside it... even I cannot say. It must not be opened yet. Someday, when you've grown up. When you've truly grown up. Then, alone, open it ever so softly.” ...But not yet. Kagome, kagome. The bird of foam — when, oh when will it come out? On the evening of the dawn, it forms and fades, fades and forms. The one behind you, facing front — who is it?
