I think this is a story about youth, about years, about first love.
It happened at an age full of ambiguity, a beautiful era that cannot be explained.
I also think this is like the countless fragmentary thoughts I have written, with no outline, no center, and no thoughts.
It's just graffiti when I'm sad, and jottings when I'm happy.
I thought again that this was a series of dreams, a collection of random thoughts.
There is no so-called life perception, no so-called memory record.