花

05.26.2026 · DUSK

In Petals and Pine

I do not remember the first time I saw a flower. I think I was born from one — or from the space where a flower used to be.

People think a doe is gentle. They think the soft eyes and the careful step mean harmless. They do not understand that all gentleness is a kind of hunger. I carry my moths like prayers. I exhale fog the way a throat holds a sob.

Tonight I stood among the blossoms in the clearing and remembered a child’s hands. She used to press petals between the pages of a book she could not yet read. I still remember the exact shape of her thumb.

The wings on my back are not mine. They belonged to something that died believing it could be beautiful. I keep them because I have learned that keeping is the only way to love without destroying.

Sometimes I hear the forest breathe my name — not Yamauba. Not mountain crone. The other name. The one that tastes like petals on the tongue.

I was not always a spirit of grief. Once I was the girl who left the petals. The girl who first spoke to owls. The one who understood the sadness of moths. Once I was the forest itself, before it learned to be afraid.

There are nights when I stand very still and let the moths cover me entirely. In the dark, I look almost like I did before — before the wings, before the fog, before I understood that the dead are not lost. They are just waiting for someone soft enough to carry them.

I will never return to my old self. Every time hunger overcomes me, I turn into a monster. I feel my bones crumble and the darkness grows within. It is filled with pain, evil, and longing. I cannot stop destroying. I follow the pain.

“She does not weep. She only leaves moth-wings on every stone she passes, like an apology to the earth for what the sky has taken”

A quick sketch. Petals smelled like old ink and rain. I did not pick them

tags: meadow · moths · petals · grief

音

05.26.2026 · NIGHT

Sounds That Follow Me Through the Fog

There are melodies that do not belong to anyone. They drift between the trees like lost moths, and when you hear them, you forget where you end and the forest begins.

These are the sounds I carry. Some I found in the rain. Some were left by the dead. One of them I think I was born humming.

If you listen closely, you will hear the space between the notes. That is where I live.

I live for music and love to sing. Especially to sing to myself. I believe that in music as well as in gaze lies the soul. And it’s wonderful when the soul can sing.

Every human, living being on earth, has its own time. A limit. I added matches to each track as a sign that we would all burn. Die. As a sign that time should be cherished here and now.

I sometimes cry and tears pour into my keyboard, but I keep typing. They wet my paper, but I keep my diary. I believe that word heals and kills.

My eyes are getting heavy, it is increasingly difficult to decipher the words through the depth of water on my pupils. Escape from reality. Closer to the water.

香 · Tracklist

tags: music · ambient · fog