The eighteen-year-old wind blows through the camphor trees beside the playground, and also disrupts the way you look at me. The road we walked side by side, even the shadows overlapped just right. It turns out that liking someone is not a grand oath, but the half bottle of water you handed me, the scratch paper I secretly hid, and the slow pace you deliberately slowed down after evening self-study, waiting for me to catch up.
Purpose: grow with each other