I ask the people around me to take care of me so that I can rest.
My secretary is adjusting my schedule, but before I know it, my hands are full.
It’s my fault
Seeking information, feeling lonely, wanting to meet people.
want to go anywhere
But somewhere, it overheats.
Disorganized, life’s shelf of memories overflows and gets out of control.
It’s like a modern art collage.
My memory book is like a random collage.
The image that can be seen in the moment of awakening at dawn is Atrandom.
The landscape of life is not uniform.
The editing of the diary of life gets stuck.
The infinite movement and unchanging daily life continue.
It is important that you feel satisfied and happy.
The thoughts of high and far are also entrusted to this diary.
But, similarly, when I looked at the wrinkles on my hands, I was surprised to find that they were exactly the same wrinkles I had when I was a child.
The wrinkles on my hands never change.
I am reminded of such things in the midst of old age.
Pendako, the index finger, has also continued to spread plasters for 50 years.
50 years of history is equivalent to a momentary memory.
Life makes nothing, leaves nothing, and my consciousness wanders through eternity.
It was in someone’s poem.
I stare at the wrinkles on my hands.
It seems that now is the time.
Body temperature 36.6 Blood sugar 139
CEO Yasunari Koyama