Since I can’t sleep, I’ll try writing a prose poem in English. On sleepless nights, I sometimes look back at photographs. Last week, last month, last year… A wave of nostalgia rises. And at the same time, a strange, fleeting feeling. I have no pictures of my childhood. Yet just closing my eyes, I can remember. Not just the sights — the sounds, the smells, the air of that place. I began taking photos, but I forgot how to hold them in my heart. Even these feelings, I leave written in words. So that my heart will not be empty, I want to engrave as much as I can.