Ghost's time and space are slow and ruthless, in ruthlessness, in oblivion, flowing by. Rain, snow, the howling of the wind, the sky can still be clear again. We are all wandering souls. A wandering spirit who is afraid of being forgotten by important people. Light is dancing, she's leaving. In the light, she left a note of farewell. The piano stood silently. New memories and history shape every corner of the room, full of freshness and strangeness, as well as disappearance and separation. Everything is moving towards a new starting point and time and space. Even if it's only Ghost himself, clinging to a lonely position. Time and space are still spinning rapidly. The fun is someone else's, and the joy is temporary. What are we living for? Continuing the past creation, past history, past culture? Can we really continue? What can stay? Once the story, once the memory, once the time together? How to stay? Perhaps it is not as good as a stake rooted in the soil, still impermanent.
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