There are unspoken cracks hidden in the neon lights of the city. Some people disappear in the repetitive dusk, and some people meet another "self" at a familiar street corner. He has seen the afterimages of clocks running backwards, and touched old objects that appeared out of thin air. Those traces that should not have existed have left dense doubts in his life. The people around me are either speechless, forgotten, or become unfamiliar silhouettes, and every step of pursuing the truth is questioning the nature of existence. Does reality distort perception, or does perception define reality? When all logic collapses and the boundaries of self blur, he must find an anchor at the edge of nothingness and tear a ray of light out of the unsolvable cycle - even if the end is deeper nothingness.
