Walking at the end of the long street, the noisy sound recalled my scattered soul.
Looking back, the new world becomes blurry and loses its sense of reality.
I finally understood that it was a beautiful garden of a petty bourgeoisie, a fantasy paradise of beauty. It's just that I'm such a poor and fragile person. Just as the melancholy of loneliness is the spice of life. It is like an icy blue dream, hanging in the unreachable depths of memory.
Conception: