Time turns back.

Closing our university textbooks, forgetting the classmates we'd just met,
we all gathered at the school from all directions
to return our admission notices. We wiped the answers from our college entrance exam papers.
The torrential summer rain flowed against the current,
the dust rising into boxes of hexagonal chalk. Teachers withdrew all their instructions and nagging.
The buzzing fans whirred backwards, the sweat in the stuffy classroom liquefied into the dampness on your backs.
Look at the principal, the few remaining hairs on his forehead had shortened.
The office was a mess; the mock exam papers from various districts had been collected by the teaching and research office.
During breaks, even the small smiles disappeared.
The countdown numbers were increasing.
For us seniors, none of this had happened yet.