Reading alone

Entering a place that fully accepts me

offering a chance for self-settlement

There

Meticulous observations of nature abound

The soapberry trees laden with “little lanterns” in the fall

Wasn’t I impressed by a fiery red one near my house

I don't know where I learned the name of the tree

Perhaps the author also didn't learn the name for the sake of knowing

It just impressed the soapberry trees

Which quietly whispered the name into our ears

There

Explorations of life and death never end

The grotesqueness and delicacy of the straight expressions

I always believe that the most special part must be dedicated to the author themselves

What’s fascinating is that any interpretation seems right

Helpful for gaining confidence

While never getting closer to the answers

Painful but free

The uncertainty of art stems from human sensibility

Differentiating it from all clear-cuts that are built on rationality

In honesty

I didn't read it thoroughly

I was rushing to school

The mood was exactly like what is written at the end of the book

“Time is running out, but I don’t want to leave you for a moment”

“I don't want to leave you for a moment, but time is indeed running out”

Yet I was not downcast

For having had the chance to read it was already a fortune in itself