When I was twenty-eight, I sold myself to a stranger who paid a clear price.
Not for money, but to escape from the city where even the sky felt like it was always shrouded in dark clouds.
During the three-year contract, I handed over all my memories of the beginning of spring, midsummer, the chirping of cicadas, fall of autumn, snowfall, riding a bicycle and shuttling back and forth on the subway. The buyer was a mysterious collector who specialized in acquiring the youth of young people who had nowhere to put it. I thought I would have nothing left, until the three-year contract expired, I became a person without the past tense.
It turns out that my youth has been bought away, but those memories are always in my hands.
Intention: Some people try their best to forget, and some people try their best to remember. When youth is clearly marked with a price, what really cannot be sold is the instinct of two hearts to still choose each other in the depths of time. This is a deep memory about love and redemption, saving souls