It’s like a Murakami story, full of bewilderness, full of impossibilities, full of pain, full of tears, full of lost individuals searching for themselves in the world, some kill themselves, some have meaningless laughter, some have happy days, some have sad days, some have lost days. and in the end, in the end, in the end, nobody knows what’s the truth. but time passes. it all passes. and some conclusion is reached. there’s no ideal. there’s no perfection. there’s no happy ending. there’s no utopia fantasy fairytale. but we all once existed, or continue to exist. in dreams. in words. in books. in memories. in real life. and that was our life. that existed. that was real. and we felt. and we dreamt. and we cried. and we existed. and it was real. it was real.