I'm afraid that if I don't pick up my pen, I will become old.
Those feelings that only belong to the tips of cardamom will slowly wither in the carvings of time.
I must remember that in those years we were unscrupulous and willful, we were willful without regard to the consequences, we gave everything we had, we talked about dreams, life, the future, the past, novels, TV, friendship, love, beauty, longing and the unknown distance. I loved the bright stars in our eyes at that time, the bravery and sincerity shining in our eyes. I miss our young hearts at that time when we were not afraid of shame, failure, falling, and brave love.
This is a story of waiting, this is a story of youth, this is a story of you and me.