That Year in the Seventh Month

Push open the weathered door of youth,

Write down the naivety of our dreams,

The teacher's formulas,

I always let go in one ear and out the other,

The questions on the exam,

You never answered them straight,

We were always quick to snap at each other over the smallest things,

Carving tattoos of burning passion,

Taking up a blade that could decide our fate,

As if the whole world would bow down before us,

You once followed the goddess from the class next door,

Pretending fate had arranged a chance encounter,

Though all you got in return were the tear stains of heartbreak,

That was still love, worth risking everything for.

College is just an essay,

The word count and the score don't really matter,

What matters is whether we can make it a dazzling one.

That year, we closed the textbooks of our youth,

That year, our dreams gathered dust,

That year, we buried our first love in the grave of time,

That year, my awkward young self met you, just as awkward as I was.