When I was seventeen, the wind was the strongest. It blew my white shirt into a sail, made the corners of my test papers curl up, and blew all my unsaid words into my throat.
Then the wind suddenly stopped.
Stopped in the afternoon when you turned around and walked into the classroom, stopped in the paper I crumpled and flattened, and stopped under the camphor tree beside the playground that never stops blooming.
The wind that followed always carried the lingering warmth of that year, and a "goodbye" that I couldn't catch up with.
Purpose: Be full of hope for the future