Sixteen-Year-Old Blank

My fingertips touched the blue steel handwriting on the cuffs of the school uniform in the photo, and the wind seemed to blow back to that afternoon when the cicadas were chirping - he drove me through the camphor road on his bicycle, the back of his white shirt brushed the back of my hand, and when the chalk dust fell on my shoulders, neither of us dared to look up and say "I borrowed it."