I would like to use this to commemorate those of us who were not brave enough. Year old, the sky is bright. We are fifteen years old, the sun is shining brightly, and we all have innocent and sad faces. A few stops in youth, the journey is simple. One stop away, one lost stop. As time blows its whistle, we move forward passively. The boy we had a crush on is as innocent as smoke. I stand at the end of the years and look back, but I can no longer remember his face.
Intention: Memories