The last memory is that it was leaning against the wall and moving forward little by little. He stopped at the door number of the intensive care unit and touched Yoochun's name repeatedly. Pushing the door open only once, I walked into the room with blue curtains.
It opens the curtains, feels the warmth of the sun, and then is put into a pocket, maybe a doctor's white coat. When the vocal cords produce sounds, they involve the muscles and cause bursts of shaking. The voice is very beautiful, it is the voice of its owner for more than 20 years, soft, calm and settled. Occasionally he would take it out, scratch his head, or make some gestures to supplement the conversation. No one responded.
Throughout the afternoon, the echoes in the empty room fluctuated quietly, and the pleasant tranquility could be felt on the skin.
The casual stroll brought shock. He seemed to have walked to the bedside, his words stopped suddenly, and his hand just stopped in mid-air, motionless. The heartbeat is rapid, and the sound of "dong" and "dong" spreads throughout the body like a drum. The fingertips were cold, even a little stiff. As if he had exhausted all his strength, he stretched out and still hung in mid-air. Hanging, hanging, as if the blood has been dried up and no longer flows.
Holding your breath, your fingers finally started to move. Slight amplitude changes without touching anything. Bit by bit, over and over again, more carefully than a sophisticated scanner.
Through the air, its owner seemed to be tracing an outline.
Feeling carefully, it was the curve of the face that he could remember even with his eyes closed.
Conception: