Perhaps using the word "weathered" to describe us in the bloom of our seventeen years is a little inappropriate. After all, we still seem too immature to be compared with those who have experienced the bitterness of life. Perhaps, at this moment, only the word "bleak" can fully describe the sky of our seventeen-year-old selves.
I don't know when it began, but we learned to be sentimental, learned to hide, learned to forget passion and love, and learned to cling stubbornly to things, all because we were young, reckless, and in the throes of youth.
