The boy I revered as a deity forever remained at the height of his splendor—eighteen years old.
He perished in that lush midsummer, filled with the chirping of cicadas and the rustling of verdant leaves.
Yet, I am missing the memory of his death.
Caught between dream and reality, I returned to the year of his eighteenth summer.
I longed to dream an eternal dream from which I would never awaken.
But when dreams dissolve into reality, and illusions fade into desolation, I realize it was all a fleeting illusion.
Seeing the boy standing between dream and reality, his anxious voice called out to me.
Unconsciously, I watched everything around me shift and transform.
Was it the deity who saved me, or was it I who saved the deity?
