The evening light always softens memories. I have counted the number of times the wind has brushed over the window sill, just like I count the unspoken words - they have swirled on the tip of my tongue countless times, and finally followed the shadow and gently fell back to where they were.
His footsteps disappeared many times at the end of the corridor. I clutched the corners of my clothes and counted the lines of the floor tiles. I heard the crisp sound of my own heartbeat shattering in the air, but I never waited for a just right pause.
Later, those unopened thoughts were like paper faded by the sun, quietly pressed at the bottom of the drawer.
Concept: The unspoken thoughts in youth are also a footnote to growth.