There are always somethings we want to know into details
and there is always something that gives us headache when committed to memory...
there are some stuffs we never want to know a bit of,
and stuffs we never want to follow into details.
But we all later discover that the very truth we run from will come to us one day unexpectedly.
we operate like a coil coupled with a trigger on a bullet...
responding to external stimuli...
repelling what it's strange to our taste...
but we all grow to learn...
that the very thing we run from
is what we all grow to live by.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem