No matter where you go, I'll still be here.

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?