In the diary of our youth, who has not written about pain? Yet no one is willing to recall it, for every time we flip through the pages, we see scars that have not yet healed. They remind us of that sorrow and suffering. We may choose to forgive, but we cannot simply turn a blind eye...
——Epigraph
Youth is an obscure diary. Time is its medium, words are its guide, and the purple lavender is its true essence. We always spin in the vortex of time, coming and going, watching it slip through our fingers. We have experienced joy and sorrow, tasted sweet and bitter, flipped through pages of happiness and anger, and hummed low as the banquet of youth comes to an end. In the end, we can only hold onto the diaries we casually wrote in the past, desperately trying to piece together fragmented memories in our minds, desperately searching for those blurred silhouettes, self-deceptively thinking that those people and those things are not yet part of the past...
Friendship is white. When we are most lost, most heartbroken, and most helpless, it gives us the greatest support. Gradually, we begin to rely on it wholeheartedly. When we are tired, in pain, weary, or sleepy, there is someone to bear it with us. In fact, true friends are not those who never fight, but those who can still be friends for a lifetime after fighting. However, we are unable to give our full trust; we always carefully guard this friendship, afraid that one day this sole reliance will also dissipate. Thus, unable to grasp the true essence of friendship, we remain cautious. Gradually, we grow tired, seeking our initial support, only to find that that warmth has long since grown cold in our ignorance... We cry, then curl up alone in a corner, head down, crying again and again. Later, we learn to pretend to be strong, learn to act casual, learn to hide our vulnerability with a smile. We look up at the blue sky, refusing to let tears fall, forcing ourselves to ignore the feeling of heartache, letting our hearts bleed. We begin to close ourselves off, hiding our true feelings, wearing masks, simply because we are afraid of being hurt again, afraid of being wounded once more...
Perhaps wearing a mask will cause us to miss out on things, but at least we won't be hurt too badly, we tell ourselves deceptively...
We are ultimately timid, afraid of loss, afraid of pain, afraid of separation.
