PROLOGUE
Look at the way I stretch out my right hand. I can tell the position of the sun from the temperature of the evening air.
Do you see? On the tip of my pointer finger, I sense a warm light. Although I'm blind, I can perceive the sunset in these ways.
I can't see, but I'm not sad because of it. After all, it doesn't mean that the world is empty for me. Things also exist outside the world of color -- for example, through sound, warmth, or structure.
When I stand before someone, I can discern their emotional state from their inflection, their breathing, or their voice. So I know what expression is on their face, what they’re thinking -- it's as if I were touching this person's heart.
I have never thought of myself as unlucky; blindness is not a heavy burden for me.
There's only one tiny thing I miss. One thing I’d love to observe just once with my own eyes: what might the color of the heavens be? Is it true that it's as delicate as flower petals in the spring? Is the color of the heavens really so similar to the color of my eyes? And does twilight really appear like a ripe fruit falling from the sky?