I saw a figure as white as snow, sitting on a stool in front of my desk. Maybe it's a dream, but it's impossible to find out. It's been a long time since I've dreamed, so much so that the nerves that judge the reality of dreams have long since faded and dulled.

The figure looked like a young girl, glowing with a silver glow. Naked with his back to me, I couldn't move my limbs, and all other sounds in my throat disappeared from consciousness except for the "cooing" sound that could be made.

The girl sat motionless on the stool, bent over, with her head bowed, her legs folded in front of her chest, pondering for a long time, then turned and walked to the edge of the bed, crouched down in front of me, and caressed my cheek with her weightless hand, without a trace of touch, and if it were not for the eyes opened, it would not be possible to tell whether her hand touched me. Her face was blurry and she couldn't see clearly. It was a face hidden in the depths of memory, on the shore of time I don't know how long it had been stranded, and now it looks dilapidated.

She seemed to be saying something, yes, even if she couldn't prepare for visual judgment, but she could still feel her lips moving.

"How long have you waited?"

"Do you know where I am?"

"Can you still see me?"

The sound does not reach the eardrum, but into the cerebral cortex. The girl smiled and shook her head, turned and jumped off the windowsill. Below is the noisy midnight street, and at this time, the street lights are still bright, and the pedestrians are still tirelessly drinking, vomiting, and holding girls. The girl's fall did not cause them a commotion, and they went their own way, as always, and it did not come from my eyes and ears, for they were long asleep or dead.

"Seven Days-Looking for Cats" its eleventh is in the middle of the hand, please wait a while,

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