January 11.
Yuzu, I'm really tired right now. You aren't by my side, and other than you, I really don't know who else to turn to with these things.
Walking under the stars for so many years, other than you, Yuzu, I've had very, very few friends. My personality is too solitary, I'm indecisive, I lack subjective thoughts and my own judgment, and I'm both sensitive and fragile.
I worry constantly. Whether it's my own phone or the next call someone else makes to me, I fear hearing bad news about someone I know. This cold world is a set of parallel lines, and so I always stand outside those lines, cautiously observing where they might lead.
So, whether I was an apprentice or during my time at the Starry Art Academy, I always walked alone, alone, alone in loneliness. I was partitioned off from the excitement, immersed in my own world, constantly dreaming up new melodies and tunes—even though I knew I had already fallen out of sync with this world.
My melodies and tunes became outdated long ago. People nowadays prefer things that are passionate and unrestrained, free and romantic. Their hearts long for poetry and distant lands, not melodies filled with internal strife and pettiness. I was only comforting myself, comforting myself that I was doing something, even if it was all in vain.
Because I was always lonely and immersed in my own world, I missed so many things. I missed the student council elections, missed the singing competitions at the academy, missed the Starry Art auditions, and missed Marilynn's fan signing event. I missed many paths that led to a better future.
A person must face themselves. In this letter, I'm going to say words I never dared to even think before.
All this time, I've been doing what I thought was right, but it was all just futile effort.
When a person stays off the world's parallel lines for too long, they will sooner or later be caught and eaten by the monster of loneliness.
The time before I met you, Yuzu, was truly agonizing for me. I once thought about giving up everything I had, abandoning the path of chasing dreams I had followed for so long. I had so many immature, escapist thoughts.
Perhaps I'm not actually a very ordinary girl; perhaps it was I who blocked my own colors with thick, gray dye,
Making myself look ordinary so that I could convince myself to stay ordinary forever.
In short, Yuzu, you are very important to me. Without you... it was you who gave light to this dim star of mine. It was you who allowed so many moving sides of me to emerge. It was you who took my hand and led me out of the boundaries of a lonely twilight, bringing me back to the world's proper track.
January 13.
Yuzu, every time I hold my pen, I can feel you right beside me. My heart beats very fast, and the hand holding the pen tip trembles slightly.
Although the image isn't very clear, my heartbeat recognized you before I did.
The Dark Gold Rose everyone is talking about online... that's you, isn't it?
I wouldn't mistake it.
At least, my heartbeat wouldn't mistake it.
January 17.
Do you remember when you were so exhausted that you fell asleep on the office desk?
At that time, I held your hand and told you that a writer I love once said, "Past life has already died. I have great joy in this death, because by it, I know that it once lived."
"Dead life has already rotted. I have great joy in this rot, because by it, I know that it was by no means empty."
Every ordinary person is like a weed.
Ordinary in the stillness, rotting in the stillness.
The situation on the Star of Art is currently not optimistic. Yesterday, the artist resurfaced for the second time, and the casualties have turned into staggering numbers. People are terrified of art. The suppression is making them do terrible things. Yesterday, someone rushed into a hospital and attacked patients in the hallway; they've already been taken away by the tuners.
The hostility on the curtain has become so heavy. People argue over the smallest things, accusing and cursing each other. I've already seen so many glaring, harsh words.
The artist is like the Sword of Damocles hanging over everyone's head on the Star of Art. The Association has confirmed that it can be born from any artistic creation. The Association cannot truly kill it.
This is fatal for the people of the Star of Art. We are all blessed by the stars, possessing constant inspiration and creating many works that others applaud; similarly, we are cursed by the stars. If one day our inspiration runs dry, we will turn into monsters with rotting bodies.
People's attitude toward art has moved from resistance to terror.
No one is sure if their own artistic creation will give birth to an artist, yet they have no choice but to create, lest their inspiration runs dry one day.
Creating amidst the fear of the artist, running dry amidst the creation, and despairing amidst the depletion. The artist feeds on despair and
Brings forth fear.
We are all trapped within a black wall; it's a terrifying Mobius loop.
The Association is helpless. If they don't give up on the Star of Art, they can only take more radical measures.
These past few days, people's pain, despair, and fear have been haunting my mind, like the faces of countless drowning people. The birth of an artist is no accident; it is the result of the people of the Star of Art suppressing themselves for a long time. Even if one artist is killed, thousands more will be born.
I can understand people's pain. I can understand people's despair. I can understand the suppression they have nowhere to vent in their fear.
Ordinary weeds cannot control the wind that blows them into disarray, cannot control the sunlight or the frost, and cannot control whether someone tramples over them.
I was once an ordinary weed, so I can understand the sadness and helplessness of all of them.
I have also suffered much injustice, oppression, and verbal abuse while being powerless to do anything about it, helplessly choosing to escape.
It is precisely because I have endured so much pain that I can understand better.
It is precisely because I have seen the root of everything that I cannot just stand by and watch coldly.
Yuzu, I want to try to burn myself, to melt the snow on the winter plains, to let this field bathe in the warm sun once more, and to win a better tomorrow for the weeds.
I will make a very bold choice.
Even if my strength is very weak,
I want to save everyone.
Perhaps, after doing all this, I won't be able to change anything. Perhaps after doing all this, I will be treated as a witch,
Burned at the stake of judgment.
Perhaps after doing all this, I will fall into an infinitely dark and distant abyss, but I firmly believe that my choice and my ending will be meaningful. When the weeds are burned away, they can melt the ice and snow. When a soul radiates light, it can plant a seed in everyone's heart,
Waiting for the day the spring flowers bloom to take root and sprout.
Decaying grass becomes fireflies, yet they can shine brilliantly in the summer night. Withered wood becomes a lamp, yet it can light the way to tomorrow.
And my seeds will drift toward the starry garden.
I will bloom thousands upon thousands of times in the starry garden.
An ordinary weed can change nothing,
An ordinary weed can change everything.
Rate on N.U.
