When I was ten, you were 13;
When I was thirteen, you were sixteen;
When I was fourteen, you were seventeen;
When I was seventeen, you were still seventeen.
My slightly warm fingertips passed through your cold palm, and I could only hold the stars in the night mist.
This is distance.
When I was sorry, you used your slender hands to catch my hot tears, and the tears fell over your crystal fingertips and fell silent in the grass.
This is pity.
After that, I am seventeen forever.