The past has passed, and the promises once made have all perished in the brilliant fantasy.
The traces of time have left wounds that cannot be opened lightly. The forgotten self still cannot wander around all day long and disappear beside the neon. Not knowing the beginning, not knowing the end, the faint blank space fills the lingering fear of memory. Everyone has a shadow of everyone, but everyone does not become everyone.
I hear the wind coming from the subway and the sea of people...
How far in the future is the person I'm waiting for...