Some times, no matter how painful or sweet they are, are just a small and ordinary journey. But, how are we passing through, the many sharp turns, are we choosing a detour, a wrong road, a desolate road, or are we going through it indispensably? Those choices and experiences cannot be judged right or wrong until the end of time.
You follow the clockwise direction and revolve in youth. Through the glass of the revolving door, I helplessly watch you dizzy. I am wearing a white gauze skirt, waiting for you at the end of your dark and confused youth.