The wind felt very comfortable on my face that day, so I hesitated because I wouldn't feel anything in my dreams.
Just because I heard your confession, it's strange. I seemed to be relieved suddenly. Don't cry, let's treat it as an accident.
Do you believe in the existence of soul? It's impossible to prove, but I feel that things that have existed must remain in a certain time and space, like a puff of smoke, an unconscious individual, carrying a huge and chaotic memory, where it is constantly worn and diluted until it is exhausted.
That day I escaped the curse of living and found you. The vivid memory fell into the endless spring dream with me, melting into the absurd and romantic story made up by someone I don't know.
Intention: Death can stop thinking, and the soul can rebirth love. Everything is a tragedy.
