In the diary of youth, everyone has written down pain, but few are willing to look back, because each rereading reopens scars that have not yet fully healed, reminding us of past sorrow and suffering. We may choose to let go, but we cannot truly ignore them.
Youth is like a vague and complex diary, with time as its carrier and words bearing all emotions. We wander within the whirlpool of time, watching years slip quietly through our fingers. We have experienced joys and sorrows, tasted bitterness and sweetness, and read through all forms of emotions, as if softly singing through the farewell feast of youth. In the end, we can only hold onto our past writings, piecing together broken memories in our minds, searching for fading figures, trying to believe that everything has not yet become history.
Friendship is pure white. It supports us in our lowest and most helpless moments, gradually becoming something we rely on. When tired, hurt, or confused, there is always someone to share the burden. True friends may not be those who never argue, but those who still choose to stay after disagreements. However, we often fail to trust completely, carefully guarding this relationship for fear of losing our only support. Gradually, this caution becomes exhausting. Looking back at the warmth we once had, we realize it has slowly faded without us noticing. We end up crying alone again and again in corners of silence. Later, we learn to pretend to be strong, to hide vulnerability with smiles, to look up at the sky and hold back tears, forcing ourselves to ignore the pain inside. We begin to close ourselves off and wear masks, afraid of being hurt again.
Perhaps wearing a mask means missing some warmth, but at least it prevents deeper wounds.
In the end, we are still timid, afraid of loss, separation, and pain.
Time flows on, youth ends, and blossoms fall away.
