I just want to record a period of real youth.
There is no tall, rich, handsome, white, rich and beautiful people. There are only us who are ordinary but live seriously and enthusiastically.
This period of time was so beautiful that I wanted to escape from the addiction he gave me, but when I always thought I had forgotten it, he emerged from an inadvertent gap in time and reminded me, letting me always remember which desk and which faces in the corridor during that long time that summer. Let me miss, in the next ten years, the youth we wound up with telephone wires, the friendship and love, sadness and joy we conveyed with our voices.
This is a story about two girls and a boy.
That year, we were seventeen years old. It's the time of first love.
This year, we are twenty-seven years old, which is the end of the old story. But, we are not done yet. . .
To commemorate our lost years. . .