indigo

It's like a chronicle of a parallel reality, where the glitter of gold and the smoke of grass coexist with fatigue, unspoken words, and attempts to escape from oneself. In one pocket are Tolkien's myths and broken dreams, in the other is a chain of anxieties and cigarettes. The road is long, the engine roars, but inside it is still empty, and no celebration outside can dispel this silence. But even in such a twisted universe, a strange hope breaks through: if you rewrite a few words, maybe you can turn demons into lighthouse fires.