Projections of...

ああ、普通だね。

悪いことをしてしまった。 悪いかどうか分からないが、今の気分はちょっと不安で、変だと思う。事実に、昨日があった事はそんなに重要的な問題ではない。ただ…何っていうかな…

Perhaps it's because I haven't felt like this in a while, and it reminded me of... Things. But to call them things are to do them injustice, for they were without form or body, only lingering thoughts and the residue of a fervent spirit that still dreamt a hopeful dream. So, like a wraith of the memories that I refuse to recall, those whispers in the dark were needling themselves through the far too exhausted defenses of this wistful being, who for the longest time, had waited for an accident exactly like this.

For fancy, and the sake of my future as an author worthy of the Akutagawa Prize, I will continue to dwell on these feelings that exist nowhere else but within myself. Because we know, that in a desensitised, pornified society of lonely 20-somethings who cannot face commitment, nobody will look within themselves and ask themselves this: beyond carnality, does there exist even an ounce of purity that makes me feel a warmth akin to love?

A mutual connection expressed through the projection of our own idealised failures and regrets onto each other; the disturbance of such an affinity, makes me shiver even now as I walk on, after the rain.