The sound of cicadas was ringing out as if to tear his ears apart. When he opened his eyes in the sweltering heat, a gentle breeze blowing through the open window brushed against his sweat-soaked nape. Looking at the clock, the hands were already diligently racing toward lunchtime.

He lay blankly on the bed, staring at the ceiling. A terrible sense of loss washed over him through the humid air.

A monologue like a sigh leaked through his dry lips. This time, too, he was in love. In the dream, he was someone's husband. Last time he was a lover, and the time before that, he was just a bystander watching from afar. Though the relationship changed every time, his heart, which loved that woman so terribly, remained constant. Memories of a tender love blooming in an ordinary daily life—sharing trivial small talk, sitting across from each other to eat. It was so achingly and poignantly good that he really didn't want to wake up in the dream.

He forced his heavy body up and headed to the bathroom. Even under the pouring cold water, his mind was entirely filled with that woman from the dream. It was definitely so tender—he loved her so much—so why is it that every time he wakes up, he can't remember her face at all? Not her name, not her voice, not even a single smile. He looked in the mirror while wiping off the water, but the identity of the terrible emotion remaining in his heart was never visualized. It felt like he had dragged an unending one-sided love into reality.