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Fading Colors

There are moments when life seems to lose its color.

Not in a dramatic collapse, but in a slow, almost unnoticed fading—

of feeling, of meaning, of desire.

 

This poem traces that quiet dulling of the heart,

and listens carefully for the faint stirring that follows.

It is not a cry of despair, but a record of waiting—

for something within to move again,

for words to return,

for hope to take its first breath.

 

Fading Colors

 

My heart does not stir—

a sense of decadence born of illusions.

My heart does not leap—

a sense of stagnation born of constraint.

My heart is not drawn—

a sense of decline born of mere technique.

 

Colors begin to fade:

a sluggish everyday landscape,

tasteless, colorless hours,

a pattern of listless emotions.

 

When the heart does not move,

idleness becomes a source of shame.

When the heart does not dance,

vitality slips away.

When the heart is not drawn,

sensibility grows dull.

 

Colors continue to fade:

past achievements and memories,

encounters and moments of excitement,

sepia-toned disappointment and disillusionment.

 

Colorless routines drag on endlessly.

A lifestyle crumbles, bit by bit.

The worms of boredom crawl out in droves.

Unable to become a hermit, I resign myself in silence.

Lured by the light of spring, I begin to stir.

I feel the pulse that should be released—

thump, thump—beating within.

 

For some reason, the will to write returns.

I am driven by an inner stirring.

I want to find signs of hope in this world.

I will devote myself once more to writing.

 

Notes

 

Decadence / Stagnation / Decline

These words echo the Japanese 退廃感・退嬰感・衰退感, expressing not moral decay alone, but a loss of creative vitality and forward momentum.

 

Inner stirring (胎動 / taido)

Refers not only to physical movement, but to the quiet beginning of something new within—

the awakening of creativity, intention, or hope.

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