Interdependent faith, hope of rebirth. The promenade under the night sky, the stars on the sea.
Who buried layer after layer of the past, threw it away and then picked it up. Who foreshadowed one parting after another, saying goodbye and crying.
At the age of thirteen, I have already learned to forget. Please don't wake up in that crowded place and feel confused.
Looking up, the seagulls are still flying. It is far away from the comings and goings of people, painting the moon on the cold night.