A memory becomes a story and is repeatedly crushed by the gears of time. The fact that you gave me heartache is nothing more than me accepting your cruel gift. What I miss so much is myself and the years that have passed away. And you, after all, have become a person who was important in the past and must be unimportant now, just like a character in my story. I call you to be you, a mark of that past. We all need to learn to let go.
Fortunately, I have you all along the way. I laughed, cried, made trouble, loved, hated, and went crazy. This is youth.