Perhaps everyone is born like dust, yet on some yellowing afternoon, youth gives them the texture of amber. Those unanswered questions tremble transparently in the wind like cicada wings: perhaps it's a name left unsaid at the end of the hallway, a route secretly sketched on the back of an exam paper, or a letter hidden deep in a desk with no address, one that will never have one.
And through every crack where regret seeps in, the sunlight still falls generously. We still laugh until we cry at a joke, chase nameless fireflies across the school field on summer nights, and believe the back seat of a bicycle can take us to the ends of the earth. Those carefree moments have never disappeared. They have simply become the backdrop of our memories, allowing us to finally understand: it was precisely the light we could never hold on to that taught us to treasure every breeze that passed our way.
