What has disappeared without a trace is our breath. Just like the real sound of the second hand, it is not heard. It was more like a school of fish gasping toward the sea. It should be a huge sound, but it seemed like it was just an unknown message. Over time. Over time. Even I can't hear my own voice clearly. Love or not love becomes unclear. We begin to be selfish and cautious, miss, escape, change our minds, and migrate. It has nothing to do with migratory birds. And then, and then... Well. Then. One day. We pulled up our windbreakers in the dark, raised our heads, and met you. Fresh as fireworks. I can finally hear. There my heart