Maybe he never came.
But how could he remember.
The images in the cerebral cortex were finally stuck in time.
Spring breeze. Summer wind. Autumn breeze. North wind. The wind is still blowing.
Gone. Dispersed. Woke up. Forgot. The mortal world is nothing but an empty dream.
Strange road. Friend. A dear friend. Strange road. Strange roads have become a destination.
The waves swallowed up the last syllable. The last sound.
"I love him."
Gentle ghost attack * Soft and cute academic master