To those lives that suddenly passed away hidden in that summer, to the warmth that overflowed from the bottom of my heart on a street corner in an afternoon, to the string of names that emerged from my memory. . .
The boys wore white shirts and rode their bicycles up and down the hill, while the girls wore ponytails and sat in the back seat shaking their left and right feet.
Those beautiful things that were left behind in our youth have been quietly imprinted on this world.