[sonnet collection] Nothing told the truth anymore.
He was tasked with the job of finding the colour under the grey.
I thought it was an impossible question, but it turned out to have an easy answer I just didn't want to face. Because, thinking I wasn't myself, wasn't Kobayashi Makoto, meant I hurt people close to me. But it also meant this time of mine wasn't wasted. /mentions of a past canon suicide attempt.
[poetry collection] The world was filled with colour.
I still feel the need to tell myself that, for whatever reason.
...but she could still note things that, perhaps, others missed.
Even in all the grey and brown, he found a little bit of colour to keep on going with.
He didn't know why the horse.
How are you doing? Still alive? Haha, I just had to ask that...