A young man's secret, woven through his youth, grows day and night like a winding vine, coiling tightly around his heart. His tangled yearning colors the whole summer like thick ink. The boy rides his bicycle north against the hot monsoon wind, his shirt fluttering like a pure white flower that never fades.
The boy who always stands smiling in the north is like the only light in the pitch-black landscape of youth.
The tender years of youth, a letter that cannot be opened, a secret that cannot be spoken.
A summer drained of warmth, like a chilly dream.
