I am used to standing under the overwhelming branches and leaves, waiting for the train with the youth number on it.
I am used to counting the cars filled with returning passengers while waiting.
When those trains full of returning passengers roared past me,
I will remember those numbers hanging on the back of the car.
Until those numbers and the face of the train disappeared in the silvery clouds, I stepped onto the train marked with youth.
The dead leaves outside the car window kept circling at the rear of the car as the train moved slowly...
I really want to follow the train in the clicking sound of youth and time colliding, and be with the retreating time outside the window.
Move forward. Don't stop...