In the diary of youth, who has not recorded pain? It is just that no one is willing to revisit these memories, for every time we turn the pages, we see the scars that have not yet healed. They silently remind us of the sorrow and agony we once endured. We can choose to forgive, but we often find it impossible to simply look away...
Youth is an obscure diary. Time is its carrier, words are its dominator, and the purple lavender represents its true essence. We are always spinning in the vortex of time, coming and going, watching it slip through our fingers. We have experienced joy and sorrow, separation and reunion, tasted the bitter and sweet, and flipped through the highs and lows. We hum low songs at the banquet where youth ends. In the end, we can only cling to our impromptu diaries, desperately piecing together fragmented memories in our minds and searching for those blurry silhouettes, deluding ourselves into believing that those people and those events are still just 'the past'...
Friendship is pure white. It gives us the greatest support when we are most lost, most hurt, and most helpless. Gradually, we begin to rely on it wholeheartedly. When we are tired, in pain, weary, or sleepy, there is always someone to carry the burden with us. In fact, true friends are not those who never argue, but those who can continue their lifelong bond even after a fight. However, we are unable to give our complete trust. We guard this friendship carefully, afraid that one day, this only reliance might also vanish. In this way, unable to grasp the true meaning of friendship, we remain cautious and eventually become exhausted. When we start looking for our original support, we realize that that warmth has gradually cooled in our ignorance... We cry, curling up in a corner alone, burying our heads and weeping again and again. Later, we learn to pretend to be strong, to act cool, and to hide our vulnerability behind a smile. We look up at the blue sky, forcing ourselves not to let tears fall, ignoring the pain in our hearts and allowing our souls to bleed. We begin to close ourselves off, hiding our true selves and wearing masks, simply because we are afraid of being hurt again, afraid of being wounded once more...
Perhaps wearing a mask means missing out on some moments, but at least it prevents us from being too deeply hurt. That is how we delude ourselves...
In the end, we are all timid. We fear loss, fear pain, and fear separation.
