The journey I'm taking is inside me. Just like blood travels down veins, what I'm seeing is my inner self and what seems threatening is just the echo of the fear in my heart.

The heart apparently doesn’t stop that easily.

Lo cierto es que no sé qué es el corazón. No sé qué significa exactamente, ni tampoco sé cómo se usa. Solo he aprendido la palabra.

Este es todavía mi corazón, por muy hueco que esté. Si bien de forma tenue, en él aún permanece el calor humano de la gente. Algunos recuerdos personales esperan calladamente a que la marea suba, como algas enredadas en una estaca clavada en la orilla. Si pudiesen cortar, de algunos pensamientos manaría sangre roja. Todavía me puedo permitir que mi corazón vague errante hacia algún lugar imposible.

There is nothing in this world that never takes a step outside a person's heart.

In the deepening spring of May, I had no choice but to recognize the trembling of my heart. It usually happened as the sun was going down. In the pale evening gloom, when the soft fragrance of magnolias hung in the air, my heart would swell without warning, and tremble, and lurch with a stab of pain. I would try clamping my eyes shut and gritting my teeth, and wait for it to pass. And it would pass –but slowly, taking its own time, and leaving a dull ache behind.

It's hard to tell the difference between sea and sky, between voyager and sea. Between reality and the workings of the heart.

Letters are just pieces of paper," I said. "Burn them, and what stays in your heart will stay; keep them, and what vanishes will vanish.

When you see runners in town is easy to distinguish beginners from veterans. The ones panting are beginners; the ones with quiet, measured breathing are the veterans. Their hearts, lost in thought, slowly tick away time. When we pass each other on the road, we listen to the rhythm of each other's breathing, and sense the way the other person is ticking away the moments.