When I went back in search of our neighborhood street, the street had aged so much. You could feel that the time had passed. i can’t go back to my youth, or to this street. They are both the same. Time will always flow. Everything will pass by. That might be why youth is beautiful. It shines, blindingly bright, for just an instant. But you can never go back to it. 1988. This is the end of our Ssangmundong story. Longing for that time and longing for that street isn’t because I miss the younger version of myself. In that place, where we won’t be able to gather like that again, I regret being unable to say my final farewell. To the things that are already gone, to a time that has already passed, I want to say a belated farewell. Goodbye, my youth. Goodbye, Ssangmundong.