The four seasons are changing. Autumn and winter turn to spring and summer. I ask you if you know. Being young is embarrassing.
We remember the jokes we had and the arguments we had.
Friendship grows, letting youth make noise, we express loudly, and redraw the map of the future.
I wrote the words in the bottle with sand. The sea breeze blew the bamboo fence and we buried it.
The words written in the sand in the bottle ask you if you still care about that young and familiar face, the long hair, the home you escaped from
I remember the afternoon tea many years later. We agreed to drink it together.