I hate moving in the winter. Dragging a large bag of luggage, a person walked alone from south to north. That kind of loneliness is so terrible, so terrible that it seems like you can't see tomorrow. It's like being isolated in a different space by the whole world. I just want to say that no matter how much enthusiasm you have, it can't withstand the torment. But unfortunately, every day since then, I have been counting down the days until I leave. Maybe it's autumn, maybe it's winter. You see, it is not good to be self-aware. Counting the days slowly leads to despair.
I will rot slowly, slowly, slowly. By then, no matter how much time there is in life, life will be far away from me. Very far.
You have left me. Very far.