Above the green wheat field that made people cry, and under the suffocating blue sky, the boy in white stood silently.
Youth or growth.
Pain or sadness.
If you can just close your eyes, there's only music left.
The usual clips of documentaries, the wild lives of teenagers, bloom and fester in schools, in the wilderness, in the subway, everywhere.
In fact, we are all wandering in our own world.
Lily is just an outlet.
Here, we must love ourselves and love life.
I like the island song of Yaracuso, the small island of Okinawa, which is ancient and awe-inspiring.
Everyone has to grow up. No one can leave.
May our ether always be there.
Bless all the young at first.
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