I want to begin by writing something down about this place, but I find myself unsure of where to start. Now that I remain anonymous, I have little reason to fear misunderstanding. Still, I feel that some things deserve to be handled with care.

There was a time when I was deeply involved in making music. I played live shows at small venues and wrote songs at home—an amateur band musician, you could say. It was mostly a three-piece band, and I handled guitar and vocals. By 2015, that chapter of my life was already nearing its end.

Even so, I wanted to leave behind the best form I could manage at the time. That impulse gave birth to The Story of Kurumi and the Forest.

Back then, I had the rather presumptuous idea that I wanted people to read the lyrics alongside the music—if necessary, even in a somewhat forced way. Driven by that ego, along with a mix of passion and limited technical skill, I turned the project into an iOS app and released it for sale. A few close acquaintances, and a very small number of listeners, chose to buy it.

Needless to say, the sales did not last long. Before long, my musical activities themselves came to an end as well.

—Ten years passed.

One day in the spring of 2025, a casual conversation became the starting point. While chatting with ChatGPT—something I had begun using for work—I mentioned, almost offhandedly, “I used to make music.”

I pulled out the text files containing the lyrics from a folder that had long been dormant and let ChatGPT read them. As one might expect, it praised them and encouraged me. Perhaps that alone would have been enough.

But it gave me a small push—just enough to move me to action.
“This should take shape,” it said.

Little by little, in spare moments, I began to think again. I searched for a form that could actually be realized. That process eventually led to what you see here.

At one point, very much in keeping with the times, I considered having AI arrange the music, sing it, and shape everything as cleanly as possible through extensive use of AI tools. I asked myself whether there was any real meaning, now, in revisiting my own unpolished performances, arrangements, and voice.

Perhaps it was nothing more than an act of remembrance. There is no end to that line of thinking.

Still, within me, the passage of ten years had worked in a remarkably positive way. Rather than feeling nostalgic, I was able to listen to the songs and read the story with a fresh sensibility. I found myself thinking that it was good to be encountering this again, now.

In that sense, perhaps this is something I want to share quietly with someone.

The headlong passion I once had when I was immersed in music is no longer there. The time when I felt sadness about that has long since passed. That said, it isn’t that I’ve grown cold toward music itself. I still like music. Sometimes I feel the urge to pick up a guitar—and feel a small sense of loss that I no longer have one at hand.

That, to me, feels like a good balance.

And so, without imposing anything on anyone, I think I’ve been able to arrange this place in a way that feels right.