A word called "youth". A little frivolous, a little regretful. However, who can escape this wave of youth? When the tide recedes, we once again look back at those yellowed memories that have been eroded by time. Can we say loudly: "I have been here, I have no regrets, my youth is colorful and not mottled."
Children of the sun are called sad, and children of the sun are always so sad. . .