Everyone's youth is lush and thriving.
It's like a tree straining through its most vigorous growing years, constantly absorbing nourishment until it finally grows into a magnificent canopy of branches and leaves, as if reaching its roots and boughs into the deepest reaches of the sky and earth. It's also like a gorgeous flower in full bloom: whatever its color or fragrance, each blossom has its own unique charm and allure.
But youth isn't perfect. There's always a slight chill mixed in.
That chill has nothing to do with love, or with any profound emotion.
It's not the saccharine passion of a primetime idol drama, nor the helplessness that leaves you wanting to cry but unable to face it, nor the profound hurt that makes it impossible to breathe, nor the painful memories hidden away in the cold and dark that we can't let go of.
It's not intense, not deep, not passionate, and not full of twists and turns.
It's simply a faint chill that rises in our hearts when we think back on it from time to time: that inexpressible regret, and the joy of drawing close to one another out of loneliness. It truly existed once, but now it's gone from our lives forever.
