P.S.I am not doing more of this, already got my hands full.
Spoiler! :
Harumi Kazuhito is a book maniac.
This is my heartfelt belief, my essence, moreover my way of life.
As long as books exist, I will live, if there is no book then I die.
When I was born I was bath in books not hot water, I was covered in books not swaddling clothes, what I wore is not bibs but books.
Still what is stated above is impossible, it would defile books, I swore to the paper that under any circumstances, that I grew up accompanied by books.
I couldn’t recall when I started reading.
As long as I remembered, it had been a long time already.
This reading habit of mine, it was deeply ingrained in my mind from a long time ago.
Basically I had a burning passion for books, that’s the most befitting way of phrasing this.
My life was tied with books.
It was like this in the past, so would the future.
That’s what I had decided.
I believed, that this was my way of life.
However, I had the chance to meet an author.
They were the people on the books’ cover I read.
Author——a person who writes the book, a person who promotes it, the creator of the book.
This gave me unbelievable joy, but I had never come in contact with these authors.
I understood that they are human just like me, there will be times when they are anxious, hesitating, longing, wishing, and doing their best.
If there are people who read then there are people who write.
I finally noticed the natural truth.
From small to large, I had read countless books.
However, had I ever understand an author’s train of thoughts?
“Indeed, even a monkey can read.”
“No, there’s no way monkey can read right?”
‘Neither can dog.’
“......If you want to say something just say it out directly!”
Authors had their own thoughts.
They must be trying to convey something to the readers.
I, myself, am not an author, therefore I don’t have the slightest inkling about it.
If I continue to read, perhaps one day I could understand the authors’ idea.
This desire is also stemmed off from reading.
This thought is also the readers’ dream.
My objective is simply just not to read.
“The reason for me writing books is not to convey anything.”
“Really? But you did give me a lot of things, such as being attacked, being abused, verbal abuse.”
“Is this an opinion?”
“Nope! And why do you need to pull out the scissor?”
Why do people read?
Why do people write?
I couldn’t fathom why.
Since the reasons are many as the stars shining in the night sky, so do the ideas.
Anticipating what titles are gonna be released tomorrow, wanting to get a hand on the them.
I will continue to read.
“No problem, there’s still tomorrow.”
“Since that is the case, give me back my tomorrow! To put it more precisely, put that scissor down! While you are sane!”
“So you want to die tomorrow, what a waste of my time.”
“Did you just throw away my tomorrow?”
The past can’t be undone.
The future is still uncertain.
So no need to despair for now.
That is what this story is about.
This is my heartfelt belief, my essence, moreover my way of life.
As long as books exist, I will live, if there is no book then I die.
When I was born I was bath in books not hot water, I was covered in books not swaddling clothes, what I wore is not bibs but books.
Still what is stated above is impossible, it would defile books, I swore to the paper that under any circumstances, that I grew up accompanied by books.
I couldn’t recall when I started reading.
As long as I remembered, it had been a long time already.
This reading habit of mine, it was deeply ingrained in my mind from a long time ago.
Basically I had a burning passion for books, that’s the most befitting way of phrasing this.
My life was tied with books.
It was like this in the past, so would the future.
That’s what I had decided.
I believed, that this was my way of life.
However, I had the chance to meet an author.
They were the people on the books’ cover I read.
Author——a person who writes the book, a person who promotes it, the creator of the book.
This gave me unbelievable joy, but I had never come in contact with these authors.
I understood that they are human just like me, there will be times when they are anxious, hesitating, longing, wishing, and doing their best.
If there are people who read then there are people who write.
I finally noticed the natural truth.
From small to large, I had read countless books.
However, had I ever understand an author’s train of thoughts?
“Indeed, even a monkey can read.”
“No, there’s no way monkey can read right?”
‘Neither can dog.’
“......If you want to say something just say it out directly!”
Authors had their own thoughts.
They must be trying to convey something to the readers.
I, myself, am not an author, therefore I don’t have the slightest inkling about it.
If I continue to read, perhaps one day I could understand the authors’ idea.
This desire is also stemmed off from reading.
This thought is also the readers’ dream.
My objective is simply just not to read.
“The reason for me writing books is not to convey anything.”
“Really? But you did give me a lot of things, such as being attacked, being abused, verbal abuse.”
“Is this an opinion?”
“Nope! And why do you need to pull out the scissor?”
Why do people read?
Why do people write?
I couldn’t fathom why.
Since the reasons are many as the stars shining in the night sky, so do the ideas.
Anticipating what titles are gonna be released tomorrow, wanting to get a hand on the them.
I will continue to read.
“No problem, there’s still tomorrow.”
“Since that is the case, give me back my tomorrow! To put it more precisely, put that scissor down! While you are sane!”
“So you want to die tomorrow, what a waste of my time.”
“Did you just throw away my tomorrow?”
The past can’t be undone.
The future is still uncertain.
So no need to despair for now.
That is what this story is about.
