Looking only to see you again, to make up for passing you by thousands of times; looking only to remember again, to awaken the helpless dream of nothingness. You were seventeen years old that year, and your playful image was full of childishness. Your goose-yellow skirt was covered with tassels, and you had a bunch of button bracelets made of colorful ropes on your wrists. You hid behind me in a panic, your little face that was rapidly reddening due to the rush was full of shyness...