In the time and space of time, we are all hurried passersby. No period of time will wait for you to be late, even a minute by a second. Time is like an endless train, and the world outside the window is fleeting time. Every place will not disappear or reappear because I have seen or not seen it. Time will pass slowly according to its own wishes, but I cannot fathom whether it goes or stops, or moves or stays. Perhaps it has a pattern, but I haven't found it yet.