[Japanese] ひび割れた地図 線だけが歩き 砂の粒ほど 約束を数える 都市の骨は 静かなリズムで眠り わたしは時間を借りて ここにいる 遠くの稜線で 空が折りたたまれ 誰かの祈りが 無線のように漂う 所有の言葉を外し 耳だけを残す 世界は私のものではなく 私が世界の一部 崩壊も開花も 同じ輪の内側 選ぶのは支配ではなく 調律 低く滑れ 地表の心拍に合わせて We breathe with the wind, not against it 壊すより 聴こえるほうを選べ Between ruin and bloom, choose listening 鉄の味の霧 記憶を薄く染め 眠る森は 微生の言語で語る 怒りは砂嵐 肋骨を通り抜け 残るのは 透明な意志だけ 境界に名前をつけず 関係だけを結ぶ 生は借景 死は整地 どちらも風の仕事 低く滑れ 地表の心拍に合わせて We breathe with the wind, not against it 壊すより 聴こえるほうを選べ Between ruin and bloom, choose listening 「救う」の主語を捨てて 「共に在る」を選ぶ 刃ではなく 空白で応答する 未来は所有物ではなく 合唱の一声 低く滑れ 無数の他者の上を傷つけず We breathe with the wind, not against it 壊すより 聴こえるほうを選べ Between ruin and bloom, choose listening 翼を畳み 砂の温度に名を与えない ここで終わり ここから始まる [English] Cracked maps—only the lines keep walking. I count promises small as grains of sand. The city’s bones sleep in a quiet rhythm. I am here on borrowed time. On the far ridgeline, the sky folds in. Someone’s prayer drifts like radio static. I shed words of possession, leave only ears. The world is not mine—I am part of the world. Collapse and bloom live inside the same ring. What we choose is not control, but tuning. Glide low, to the heartbeat of the ground. We breathe with the wind, not against it. Choose hearing over breaking. Between ruin and bloom, choose listening. Mist with a taste of iron stains memory pale. A sleeping forest speaks in the tongue of micro-life. Anger is a sandstorm passing through my ribs; what remains is only a transparent will. We name no borders—only relations we bind. Life is borrowed scenery; death is leveling—both are wind’s work. Glide low, to the heartbeat of the ground. We breathe with the wind, not against it. Choose hearing over breaking. Between ruin and bloom, choose listening. Drop the subject of “to save,” choose “to be with.” Answer not with a blade, but with a pause. The future isn’t property; it’s a single voice in a chorus. Glide low, without wounding the countless others below. We breathe with the wind, not against it. Choose hearing over breaking. Between ruin and bloom, choose listening. Fold the wings; give no name to the temperature of sand. It ends here; it begins here.
