When I was seventeen, he wrote my name on the beach and said he had something to say after the college entrance examination.
When he was eighteen years old, he fought against the whole world for me and signed a gambling agreement, but in the end he was pushed into the abyss by my own hands.
For ten years, I healed my wounds alone in the windy sand of the northwest, thinking that he had already become famous, married, and had children.
Ten years later, we met again at the class reunion. He was holding his daughter and I was wearing old clothes.
He handed me a bag of wedding candies and said with a smile, "Congratulations."
It turns out that some misses are not regrets, but endings.
This is a story about youth, class, regret and relief.
Dedicated to all those lost in time.
Purpose: To explore class differences in adolescence, the destruction of beautiful emotions by realistic resistance, and the process of seeking self-reconciliation and relief amid regrets in adulthood.