In the diary of youth, who hasn't written about pain? Yet, no one wishes to recall it, for every flip of the pages reveals unhealed scars. They silently remind us of the deep sorrow and suffering we have endured. We can choose to forgive, but we cannot pretend they never existed…
— Epigraph
Youth is an obscure diary. Time is its vessel, words are its master, and that touch of purple lavender represents its true essence. We constantly spin in the vortex of time, coming and going, watching moments slip through our fingers. We have experienced joy and sorrow, tasted sweet and bitter, browsed happiness and anger, and softly sung the dirge of youth’s farewell. In the end, we can only clutch the diaries we jotted down casually, desperately trying to piece together shattered memories in our minds, desperately searching for those blurred figures, self-deceptively believing that those people and events have not yet become the past…
Friendship is white. It provides us with the greatest support in our most lost, heartbroken, and helpless moments. Gradually, we begin to rely on it wholeheartedly. When we are tired, in pain, weary, or drowsy, there are always companions to shoulder the burden with us. In fact, True friends are not those who never fight, but those who remain by each other's side for a lifetime even after quarrels. However, we often fail to give each other full trust. We guard this friendship cautiously, fearing that one day this sole dependency might also dissipate. Thus, unable to comprehend the true essence of friendship, we remain on our guard, gradually growing tired. When we seek that original reliance again, we find that the warmth has long turned cold in our unawareness… We weep, curling up alone in a corner, burying our heads to cry, time and again. Later, we learned to pretend to be strong, to act nonchalant, and to use smiles to mask our vulnerability. Looking up at the blue sky, we force back tears, compelling ourselves to ignore the feeling of heartache, letting our hearts bleed silently. We began to close ourselves off, putting away our true hearts and wearing masks, simply because we are afraid of being heartbroken again, afraid of being hurt again…
Perhaps wearing a mask means missing out on some beauty, but at least we won't be hurt too badly. We comfort ourselves with this self-deception…
In the end, we are all timid. We fear loss, fear pain, and fear parting.
Time flows on, youth fades away, and the blossoms fall to the ground…
