Seventeen years old is the end of a series of reunions.
With just one glance, he identified his own abyss.
That is not the white moonlight but the fiery red sun, which softens and warms time.
And the biggest regret is not that there was no future?
But there was no heartfelt farewell.
I didn't say "I like you" in one of the countless encounters.
So much so that when he dared to speak at noon, he could no longer hear him.