Draw the draft

Since the past is static like a somewhat beautiful craft in its memory, it can be viewed from various angles and from different angles, resulting in the various commentary of different dimensions. Of course, verification work is a good thing, but I think that the viewpoint of verification should be as one as possible at that time. When looking at the past from various viewpoints, commentary occurs endlessly and cannot be collected. It is you who is confused. And it is we who are confused.　Yes, I could not take a morning walk today because it was cloudy. To be honest, I didn't do it because I wanted to sleep. From the conclusion, I can not emphasize the morning walk. There are other things to do. Let's get rid of the things that are important. We can only do that, after all. Where do you start when things get piled up? After all, you will give priority to important things. So how do you evaluate importance? The work in the brain may take time. So let's get rid of...

If I touch the surface of the mirror, I have to start over..... “Can you help me? Thank you. Thank you. Here are the items that should be used. Use this to wipe it clean. That’s all you have to do.” Where did she go? Why are the lessons useless? present past future finish finished Where did she go? No, I don’t have time to think about that. Certainly, there was no suggestion that we would work together to help each other. In short, all I have to do is wipe the water taps and mirrors clean and take away all the trash. Fuck. First, the fabric was soaked with soapy water. Wipe the mirror with a damp cloth. If you bring your face close to the mirror, you will find that the mirror is unexpectedly dirty. Toothpaste, cosmetics, fingerprints, etc. are recognized. If you wipe it once, the white stains caused by them may not disappear, so wipe it many times. Oh, the mirror is covered with dirty soapy water. The mirror is dirty than it was a few min...

There was still plenty of storage left.… The morning his phone refused to install an update, Daichi thought the problem was the operating system. A notification appeared on the screen: Not enough storage available. He had seen it before. His phone contained thousands of photographs—receipts he no longer needed, screenshots of train schedules from trips taken years ago, blurry pictures of meals, duplicate images of the same sunset, and videos whose existence he had completely forgotten. He began deleting them. At first, it felt strangely painful. Even the photographs he knew were useless seemed to possess a tiny emotional weight. A photograph of an empty restaurant reminded him of a friend he no longer saw. A screenshot of a weather forecast brought back an afternoon when he had been waiting for someone. A photograph of an ordinary street contained, invisibly, the person he had been when he took it. Eventually, however, the s...

That may be a skillful one, but I’m still not sure if it’s the best one..... “Where are you now? Come back as soon as you’re done.” Should breaks be taken arbitrarily? What is the inconvenience of the nature of time? time places seek present tied Should breaks be taken arbitrarily? People who sit in chairs and work seem to be worried about trivial matters. A short break is essential for those who are blown by the wind and struck by the rain and continue to move. In the first place, work is never interrupted at a fixed time. Unless each person considers the time allocation and takes a break at their own discretion, they will suddenly faint on the street one day. The pain of work changes depending on the time and place. Using the memory of experience and the sixth sense, skilled people take effective breaks. Of course, the managers are also skilled managers. They can predict in detail what each person thinks and when and where they will esc...

And somewhere, in the heart of a toddler's laughter or the ink-stained chaos of an office,.... Part I: The Forgotten Phone In the dimly lit office, the remnants of a busy workday lingered. Papers were strewn across the desk, and the air smelled faintly of coffee and ink. He, a man of quiet habits, had left for the day, but his phone remained—an unassuming black rectangle sitting squarely in the middle of the clutter. The office was a microcosm of his life: organized chaos. Mugs, half-eaten donuts, and crumpled tissue paper surrounded the phone. Permanent marker pens lay scattered, their caps off, as if they, too, were waiting for something. And there, amidst the chaos, was a photo—a beacon of warmth in a sea of mundanity. The wallpaper displayed a smiling toddler—a cherubic face that seemed to defy the chaos around it. Those tiny fingers, the curve of the cheeks—it was a child who had recently become his own. A child born of rema...

But for now, he clings to the photo—the fragile thread connecting him to a child who knows nothing of borders, bullets, or broken promises.... In the heart of Khan Younis, where dust swirls in the scorching air, a small room harbors a silent witness to life’s tumultuous twists. His name is Ahmed , a man of weathered hands and a heart that bears the weight of secrets. Ahmed’s desk, a battered wooden slab, occupies the center of his modest room. It’s a place where time stands still, where memories and mundane objects collide. His smartphone, a sleek rectangle of glass and metal, rests there like a sentinel. Its screen, cracked and smudged, displays a photo—a beacon of hope amidst the chaos. The image captures a smiling toddler , cheeks flushed with innocence. The child’s eyes sparkle, mirroring Ahmed’s own wonder. This little one, born of fate and circumstance, is the unexpected gift of Ahmed’s remarriage. A union forged in the embers o...