Solitude—no mere void, but a quiet figure who walks beside, cloaked in mist and memory.

It appears in fleeting moments—
then vanishes like a breath caught between thoughts.
It does not speak, yet always listens.

In Japanese aesthetics, solitude is not absence,
but a quiet presence,
like mist drifting through a grey-green forest,
where vision extends outward,
but receives no reply.

Art and traditional beauty have long embraced solitude,
not as sorrow,
but as reflection—
a mood that softens time
and sharpens the self.

Furniture is born from human touch.
It holds memory, shelters emotion,
and receives meanings we whisper into it.
Where gods once lived in mountains and rivers,
now myths arise quietly
between you and the things you hold dear.

This is where the story begins—
with solitude,
that most delicate and beautiful of feelings.