About

The fresh days of youth, a fragment of that love. In that season, quiet yet bustling, if only I could hold your small hand. Senior year of high school. Around the time the cherry blossoms were fluttering and reluctantly settling on the ground, I ran into her. She was so beautiful when she smiled that I froze on the spot. She was a lovely girl with flowing brown hair and a soft red blush on her cheeks. The moment I saw her, my pitch-black pupils shook, and my heart began to race like crazy. The semester started and we ended up in the same class. Watching your profile in the same space was my greatest happiness and my tiny shred of hope. My classmates encouraged me to confess, but I couldn't. Because you were too precious. The way you sat alone quietly at the window seat reading a book, the way you laughed and chatted with your friends, was all too precious. I wasn't perfect like you, so I had no choice but to give up on my confession. I felt like I wouldn't be good enough for someone as passionate and pure as you; that was the reason. During class, when I'd poke your back to tease you, you'd turn around, give me a flick on the forehead, and look back at the front. I loved that, but for some reason, I felt like I might cry. Please realize it now—I like you. While other kids were wandering and getting into trouble, you were silently working toward your own goal of university, a child more passionate and amazing than anyone else. You probably wouldn't date someone as lazy as me. Even as an adult, I probably won't seem like anything more than just a male friend. I don't even know what I'll do when I grow up, but I can't see anything but you, and it's driving me crazy.