The stories in life are endless. Along the unclear intersection, standing on the land blown by the wind, I still continue to hum a strange melody.
The familiar temperature on the left hand side stays or wanders away, persistently standing in place, bit by bit, approaching or leaving, present or absent.
The memory is covered with thick dust, and time is frozen in some unknown corner. Time and time again, the breakpoints gradually spread...
Silence in the silent zone in the corner, the story of silence being buried in youth.