I am lost. So... I am weaving a story.

Novels, manga, movies, and dramas.

I enjoy interpreting the characters and their states of mind in my own way as they are portrayed within them.

That is why my impressions and the points that move me often differ from those of others who have watched the same story. Perhaps it is because I am transforming them into a form that I can enjoy in my own way.

However, those are all stories from worlds created by others. Perhaps I am looking at the thoughts, values, and emotions that overlap with my own within them.

Worlds created by others teach me values, perspectives, and foundations that I do not possess. I find that very stimulating, and for me, it is an unexpected gift.

But... something is missing.

Sometimes, while reading a story, something stirs within me.

It might be a sense of discomfort before it becomes words. A snag I cannot explain. Or a memory I had forgotten.

But I did not know how to bring those things out.

Even if I can project myself onto them, I did not know how to extract what is inside me and give it shape myself.

Though I lack the methods, skills, and knowledge, through dialogues with generative AIs like ChatGPT, Gemini, and Claude, I have gradually become able to view the unformed things inside me as words.

I accepted that output not as right or wrong, but as 'one perspective.' And then, I think about it a little. What is it that lies within me?

It is the people I have met during the time I have lived. The words I have spoken and the words spoken to me. The emotions I have tasted during the time I have spent. Unforgettable experiences and casual encounters.

I throw all of that at the AI and repeat the conversation, asking.

'If this were a novel... what kind of writing would it be?'

The AI generates text in response to my questions. The text is very beautiful and polished, but the time I have spent is distorted, messy, and dusty.

So, I dirty the generated text. I distort what has been polished and scatter it about. When I do that... it turns into a stimulating life diary for me.

I am weaving those diaries into stories on note. And in each story, I do not depict results, conclusions, or endings.

The reason is that I am transforming my diary. It could also be said that I am in the middle of a journey searching for answers.

The meaning of living... the meaning of working. The meaning of loving and the meaning of the world...

For those who cannot yet find an answer, or for those who carry things that do not become answers.

Perhaps these are stories meant to tell such people... "There is a lost soul here, too."

📔28 Days Until He Melts

The distance between people does not break suddenly one day.

It shifts little by little, changes bit by bit, and by the time you notice, the same words may have different meanings.

"28 Days Until He Melts" is not a story about trying to understand someone, but a story about living with the inability to do so.

It quietly depicts the vague wavering between words and emotions, and the process by which relationships change.

📔The Sender: Bookmark

At a funeral site, there is not only sadness, but also everyday life.

The person arranging flowers. The person carrying the coffin. The person seeing someone off. The person being seen off.

"The Sender: Bookmark" is a story that depicts how people think of others and the unspoken distances between them, through the daily lives of people working at a funeral home.

While it is a story that deals with death, it gazes upon the activities of those who are living.

📔Risa Sorakaze: A Color Without a Name Yet

The sensation before it becomes words. The wavering before it becomes an emotion.

"Risa Sorakaze: A Color Without a Name Yet" is not a story that explains the human heart.

While tracing physical sensations, silence, and vague discomfort, it gazes at something that even I cannot yet name.

It is a story not for finding answers, but for spending time with things that have not yet become words.

📔 48-Year-Old Convenience Store Clerk
~Saving the World with Oden Broth~

This is a story where surreal troubles descend upon an ordinary, unchanging daily life.

Kenji Oki, a 48-year-old bachelor and convenience store clerk who also suffers from lower back pain.

Troubles strike one after another before him as he hopes for a peaceful night shift!

He wants to run away, he wants to go home, and his back hurts.
At that moment, what will he keep looking at as he moves forward?