Out of sight, there's no world to find. Out of view, nothing feels alive. Every step draws a fading line. Every wave returns an outline. ...Still there. ...Blurred. ...Outline. ...Not yet. Why so quiet? Still it moves. Why no answer? Still it knows. Why fade away? Why return? Nothing ends. Only waves. Nothing stays, nothing ever ends. Every answer comes around again. If all stops, does the wave? If none remain, who keeps dreaming? ...Almost clear. ...Almost real. ...Outline. ...Undefined. No name. No shape. Still becoming. Almost... 自分の目で見えない 世界はなくて 自分の目に映らない 世界は偽物で 自分が思う 世界が本物で 自分が歩けば 世界がまわる ...Still there. ...Blurred. ...Outline. ...Not yet.
