I write about my youth as a bystander.
Summer is a season with many stories.
I don't know how many mistakes I made during my youth were buried in that summer.
I don't know how many people who guessed in the rushing years subverted that summer that year.
I still vaguely remember that in April of that year, wisteria flowers were blooming all over the campus.
I still vaguely remember that summer, Tumi was the last flower to bloom in the flower season.