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The sorrow of sixteen years old
January 11, 2023
The lake is so young that there are no wrinkles
So perfect that there is no flaw
Just like his hidden sorrow
A white seagull
Swooping down
Cracks cut through
Instantly healed
The December wind passes by the sorrow of 16 years old
Obscure, painful, no one can understand
But there is always another thick layer of skin
Covering the pain of the tear
like the seemingly perfect lake.
I'm not indifferent to pain
Just fascinated by the absence of vulnerability
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I sat on the steps of the lake, facing the calm lake thought blank. Suddenly a white seagull swooped down and without hesitation, cut through the only calmness of the lake. But it seems to be an instant, the wound that was broken back to the old calm. I was thinking how sixteen-year-old grief is not like this, strong and painful, disguised perfectly.