Green years, forgotten past events.
When people reach middle age, is it the traces of age that inspire hazy memories, or is it the ignorant regret that accompanies a lifetime of growth.
Heading south, all the way to the light, it is warm, sometimes melancholy, sometimes crazy. Maybe a little light can warm the place, but it hides cold and suffocating memories.
This novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarity is purely coincidental and should not be imitated.
