When night seeps through the wounds of the world, the circus lights up.
The lamps are the kind of yellow that refuses to give up. There are three hundred and sixty-five of them, and in each lamp is a sunset that does not want to go down the mountain.
The shadows ran on the tent cloth, half a step faster than their owners, as if they were always running away from something or chasing something.
The sound of the organ leaked out, as sticky as honey, so sweet that it turned bitter, tugging at the ankles of every passer-by: Come in, we won't close tonight.
The animal trainer whipped the air, causing a crack in the air and stars falling out from the crack.
The clown drew a smiling face in front of the mirror. As he drew, the person in the mirror cried, but the person outside the mirror was still laughing.
The moment the trapeze artist let go of the swing, he suddenly remembered that he was actually afraid of heights. Unfortunately, it was too late, as his body had already learned to fly.
In the audience, the girl selling popcorn counted coins one by one, like counting letters that would never come.
In fact, everyone walks with their own circus: a lion in the chest, a sword swallower in the stomach, and faded posters plastered on the inside of the skull.
We won't close tonight because we are too sober during the day.
I am so awake that I forget that I can fly and break, and I choose not to let go when the swing reaches its highest point.
So come on.
The ticket is a tear, or a lie that has not yet been told.
You choose your own seat, but remember: tonight's finale is yours.
Concept: endless carnival
