引越しをするたびに、自分の半身をその家に残していくような気がする。もう何度も引っ越し、今は自分の実体がほとんどない。学校や職場や通い慣れた場所にも半身を残して、それらはもう一度拾い集めることができる。けれど家に限っては二度と入れない。住んでいた家の前を通るたび、まだそこに住んでいる私がこちらの半身を狙ってくる。

ほとんどなくなった実体を取り戻すための手記。

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Each time I move, it feels as though I leave half of myself behind in that place. I have moved many times, and now there is almost nothing of me left. I leave parts of myself in schools, workplaces, and familiar places I return to, and those pieces can be gathered again. But when it comes to a home, I can never go back inside. Each time I pass a house I once lived in, the version of myself still living there seems to be aiming for the half I carry now.

A record written in an attempt to recover what little of myself remains.​