Youth is a shallow mark, engraved on the mottled green paint stairwell, on the ink-stained exercise book title page, and on the wind-wrinkled cuffs of the school uniform.
This mark belongs only to young people.
It is not a thick and colorful mark, but like the moss on the stone steps after the rain, with a moist coolness, gently covering the wall of memory. It is the thoughts hidden in the folds of time, the moments when you are hesitant to speak, and the gentle marks left by the passage of time.
Later, when we grow up, pass through the crowds, and go through the four seasons, when we look back, we find that those moments that we once thought were sour, melancholy, and pulling have become the tenderest marks in the years. They are the bruises scattered in time, the youthful days that belong exclusively to us and cannot be returned but will never be forgotten.
Concept: Bitterness is the flavoring of growth
