Unraveled into the sky, the me who cannot write.

──Title unset.

Seven characters lined up on the screen. The aligned characters exert a silent pressure on me. Asking if I can't write. In fact, when I open the article, two or three short sentences stand quietly. Words I started to write and then stopped. I couldn't bring myself to delete them and scatter them, so I left them as they were. It's not that I don't want to write. ...It's just that I can't pull it all together well. The air conditioning in the room makes my fingertips cold. The breath that escaped my lips fell listlessly to the floor.

It's always like this when I run out of breathing room.
Words flow aimlessly through my brain, never knowing when to stop. Like a spell that keeps droning on and on. Is it the effect of the spell? My head keeps getting heavier. In proportion to that, my body tenses up. Both my head and body are stiff as a board. That is painful and sad for me... Above all, it is agonizing.

I want to write something good. The opening should be intriguing. Add some contrast. What about the structure? What about metaphors? What should I write to get people to read it? To get it evaluated? Is this writing interesting? ...Is it even necessary in this world?

The words flowing inside my stiff self are chains that bind me. Once tied tightly, they are hard to untie. The more I struggle, the more I sink into the sea of my thoughts and drown. Maybe I can't write anymore. I quietly closed the screen as if tuning out a radio of unpleasant thoughts. Then, I took a notebook from the bookshelf. A notebook the color of a summer sky that seemed like it could suck me in forever. A notebook like the pouring sun that I rely on when I feel distressed. That was this one.

I flip through the notebook and write the date. If I can do that, I'll be fine. The rest is just up to me. If words come to mind on the spot, I just write them down. I don't care about anything. Even if the characters look like a raging sea. Because my honest feelings are expressed there. I can't hear the sound of the refreshing wind or the noisy cicadas. I just list the words with a blank mind. The pure white pages of the notebook are dyed with the blackness of the characters. As the proportion of the dyeing increased, my heart slowly loosened. Words that I don't show to anyone. The words that aren't being judged are dancing happily on the notebook. I want to dance as freely as this, too. I want to take off the shackles of evaluation and keep swimming. Toward the horizon that continues forever.

Judgment.
I stop the pen I was holding. These three characters succinctly expressed the chains that bind me. Is a viral work good? Is a widely read work good? What is above and what is below? Somewhere deep in my heart, I was judging on my own. My internal colored glasses... maybe they are colored sunglasses because they make things look cloudy. I was wearing them unconsciously. Even though no one had said anything to me. I created criteria for judgment within myself. No wonder it's painful. Sweat seeped out from the gentle heat. This world has no good or bad. No top or bottom. Everyone is just there, each in their own way. Each and every article is more precious than anything else. So... so, it's okay. I tell myself. The chill in my fingertips disappeared before I knew it, and my motivation was gradually building up. The sky blue of the notebook and the deep blue sky visible from the window melt together and resonate. The mixed summer air was pushing me from behind.

I have decided to participate in the Tomoshibi Cup. Since it's my first time, I'm nervous.
Tomoshibi-san, I look forward to working with you.