We talk about memory, we ask.
Maybe there is no answer. Memories are a feast of farewells, farewell to every minute and every second, farewell to lovers, relatives, enemies, strangers, and a fate that can no longer be recovered. The feast is here, and the people who participate in this feast are indeed wandering souls. Memories are farewells that can no longer leave.
Even thought, we live in such a big memory. The world is a person's memory. You and I are in the feast of his farewell, in the dream I don't know whether I am a guest, I don't know where the hometown is.
And as the person who remembers us, what kind of existence do we meet in his world? Is it also like these souls who live in his memory feast, wandering and having nowhere to turn, vaguely feeling impermanent and illusory?
Say it, memory. Only memory can tell the answer. But it is always silent. It focuses on making more memories, more heavy memories.
It's better to leave every warm moment behind. I know, you are in tears, but such a great sense of happiness cannot last forever without saying goodbye.
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