Memory is elusive. Sometimes I look back on the past and find that memory is like smoke, passing away with the wind. Memory is like a corridor, but like an ancient building, there will always be places that are incomplete. There are always regrets when looking again. Some pains are engraved in the bone marrow, so I can finally see clearly in the blurry parts of the corridor. Sometimes dreams are also connected to the fragments of the memory corridor...
Dreamland is a magical place where you can meet the future and dream of the past.
Let me use dreams to write my own story, count it as my selfishness...
Intention: Some memories are valuable, but when you wake up, look forward