This silence belongs to us... and every single person out there, is waiting for us to fill it with something.
Spring will be here soon. Spring, the season I met you, is coming. A Spring without you...is coming.
A lump of steel, like a shooting star. Just seeing the same sky as you makes familiar scenery look different. I swing between hope and despair at your slightest gesture, and my heart starts to play a melody. What kind of feeling is this again? What do they call this kind of feeling? I think it's probably... Called Love. I'm sure this is what they call love.
Isn't it funny how the most unforgettable scenes can be so trivial ?
Hold on. Don't go! Let's argue again. I'll bribe you with a canelé. I'll call you to kill time. I don't mind being Friend A. Please don't go. Please don't go. Please don't go...please don't leave me behind.
Maybe... just maybe, the light can reach even the bottom of a dark ocean.
Sure I'm okay. Because that's how I was built, after all.
The piano is meant to be played like you're embracing it, right?
You're like a cat. If I get close, you'll ignore me and go far away. If I get hurt, you'll play around to share the pain.
I want to hear it again, yet I don't want to hear it again. I want to see her, yet I don't want to see her. What do you call this kind of feeling again?
Music speaks louder than words.
I look like I'm suffering, huh? That's not good... But of course I'd be suffering. I mean, I'm gonna sail in uncharted waters, right? Both, taking on a challenge and creating something. It is painful, but it's fulfilling.
Even in the depths of the darkest oceans, some light always pierces through.
You know, I discovered something. Everyone has something... Something deep inside their hearts. For some, it might have been enmity. For others, admiration. Wishes, a craving for the spotlight, feelings that one wants to deliver, feelings for one's mother. Everyone was supported by their own feelings. I realize now that, perhaps, no one can stand alone on stage.
The more I concentrate, the more I get consumed by my performance. The sounds I play fade away from my reach, tangling up like flowers seized by the spring wind and vanish. But I wasn't slacking at all. I practiced till I passed out. I gave my all. And if I still turned in a sloppy performance after all that, then... That's who I am now. It's the current me, playing with everything I've got.