In the diary of youth, who hasn't left traces of pain? We simply choose not to look back, for every page reveals unhealed scars that remind us of past sorrows. We can choose to forgive, but we cannot pretend they never happened.
Youth is like an obscure diary, with time as its carrier, words as its guide, and lavender as its essence. We whirl within the vortex of time, watching the years slip through our fingers. We have experienced reunions and partings, tasted the bittersweets of life, and felt the spectrum of emotions. As the banquet of youth fades, we are left clutching our journals, desperately piecing together fragmented memories and searching for blurred silhouettes, even deceiving ourselves into thinking that those people and moments never truly passed.
Friendship is pure white. In our most desolate and helpless moments, it offers the greatest support. We begin to rely on it wholeheartedly. When we are weary, pained, or exhausted, there is someone to carry the burden with us. True friendship is not about never arguing, but about staying together even after the quarrels. Yet, we often struggle to offer complete trust, guarding our friendships with excessive caution for fear that our sole reliance might vanish. This hesitation leads to exhaustion, only to realize that the warmth has gradually cooled due to our own ignorance. We learn to cry alone in corners, to mask our vulnerability with smiles, and to pretend to be strong. We begin to isolate ourselves and hide our true hearts, simply because we fear being hurt once more.
Perhaps wearing a mask means missing out, but at least it protects us from too much pain—or so we tell ourselves.
In the end, we are all timid, fearing loss, fearing injury, and fearing separation.
As time flows, youth departs, and the flowers wither away.
