Sensations and pleasures, fleeting glimpses, and emotions haunt those indulging details. It is a kind of fantasy and an aesthetic - like holding up a handful of water, there is no moon, only the tiny light and shadow like flowing gold. Perhaps it should be like the blank chapter in The Tale of Genji, as if the strings of the soul finally couldn't bear the most beautiful mournful cry - a clang. Stopped abruptly.
Conception: