sympathy tower tokyo – rie qudan
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She talked and talked and talked, as if convinced that she lived in a house made entirely out of words and everything about herself could be explained in language; as if, driven by an unwavering sense of purpose, she had rejected the very possibility of leaving words unspoken, instead devoting each day to waxing and polishing the gleaming surfaces of her linguistic abode.
[…]
It wasn’t a house of words she lived in: it was a prison. A windowless, poorly ventilated, unhygienic prison, where the guards monitored her every utterance.
