"That feeling is very far away and very long."
"Like the wind passing by a piece of golden light, like flowers blooming all over a tree hill."
I have recently fallen into a short period of recurring insomnia. This is probably the introduction to the story "Here and There". I have met so many people along the way, and the freshness that happened around me has also been frozen for a long time. The story and the wine have not been drunk yet, so I will tell you about it through my hazy drunkenness.
I really don't know what to call it. I always feel that writing something like a "prequel to this and the end" is silly.
Because I wrote it at night when I had insomnia, I just call it writing before going to bed.
Conception: