[  Palm to palm ] 01-10

It is said that touching hands is the same as connecting the heart to the heart. The reason why you pray with your hands together is to hope for something, and putting your hands on your hands may be to feel the other person with your heart.
To love you is to love me.

Narcissus only looked into his beautiful reflection on the transparent water, but he forgot to lay his hands on it. His heart died because he could not hear the beating of his heart over his connected hand. And he blossomed where there was nothing left.
The reason why the wind blows is that someone has recognized the empty heart, and I give you a shy hand that resembles me. Deeper, deeper. When the warmth between the fingers becomes the end of a story, we try to hold the hand we held together once more because it is still too early to make a new sentence. We make a dream knot so that the lark that tells us the morning can sleep more late. Like trying not to untangle your tangled fingers.

The story piled up over the gap, and the fruit that grew up with the story seemed to promise eternity. Just as a baby bird leaves its nest when it grows, the ripe fruit will soon fall. Even if the scent is a strong fruit, the remaining scent of the person who left will only be blurred in the future.
The reason why the remaining seats are empty is that the sound of the lira that Orpheus was playing remains in my memory, and the hands that he touched are still warm. The narcissus spread again among the things that were not enough and blurred.
I will love myself because I loved you.

Your backside ahead like a stream of rain. Things that get distant when you turn around. The mixed hands remember the heart that was touched. If all this is sadness, bye now.
If this sadness was a daffodil that had bloomed in an empty spot, if it was a lark that sang the morning, and if it was a fruit with a story, and if it was the warmth that was coming and going at the fingertips, I would gladly welcome it again.