What would you do if you could go back in time? Would you change a few things? Change something you regret? Maybe grasp for something you no longer have the chance to get? I wish I could. I would go back in time in order to experience it again—my happiest moments. I want to go back so badly, but happiness is always so temporary... I can only wallow in sadness and regret. I ask myself, "Why can't I be happy again?" It shouldn't have been this painful.
There is a hill... and on that hill bloomed flowers. The hill sat above a manor, but who knows who lives inside? It could be monsters, demons, or zombies. But the hill stood out; a large tree grew on that hill; it seemed to be the loneliest tree in the world. Even if it was lonely, it was beautiful; it's golden leaves falling from the hill each autumn... as if it were raining gold. It was like a dream. I would wish this dream went on forever, as if it were a repeating loop... these happy memories on that hill cannot be replaced... I wanted them to last forever.
Though the tree was lonely, eventually it was no longer lonely... she would come to accompany it, to accompany me. This is when I was happiest. The girl was no older than about 6 years old; she was clad in a yellow dress resembling the leaves; she was one of the inhabitants of the manor down the hill; she had a cheerful aura around her as she trotted up the hill.
Mysterious girl: T... Tea...
Teacher: H...huh?
Mysterious girl: Teacher! You fell asleep waiting for me again! Wake up! This is the third time this has happened!
Teacher: Hah, I was a bit drained. You could come up here faster so that I don't fall asleep again.
Mysterious girl: Teacher! We should get started!
Teacher: What do you want to do? Are we doing the usual thing again?
Mysterious girl: Yes, teacher! I want to write more books!
Teacher: Alright, let's begin... what type?
Mysterious girl: fairytales! You always read them to me! They are always so cool!
Teacher: Make sure you write properly this time... you keep writing nonsensical symbols and things.
Mysterious girl: You just dont understand me!
We sit under the tree and begin writing. As expected, she wrote nonsensical words; these included "delulunging es gujas." She always explained they meant something along the lines of a hero saving a princess or a cruel tyrant being slain. I couldn't tell myself; I always wondered why she calls me a teacher even though I can't even teach her how to write properly. Maybe it is her own bright imagination that was swimming across the pages, and I just couldn't understand it.
Mysterious girl: Teacher! I'm finished!
Teacher: That was fast! You should put more time into writing your "stories."
Mysterious girl: I think I did well enough!
Teacher: Come now... I will show you how to properly tell a story.
We write until the evening... helping her write stories was always a pain. First of all, she kept spouting nonsense and it was very hard to control her. Secondly, she was very energetic and ran circles around the tree when she got excited. Third, I always disliked helping her write; it takes the charm of personal ideas out of writing a story. Those were my ideas on the pages. I thought... not her's. After we finish, we decide to get some rest.
Mysterious girl: Hey teacher! I have big plans for this book!
Teacher: What are your plans?
Mysterious girl: I want to give all the stories I write a home! I want to make a library! Just like the one at home! I want to build a huge library! with you!
Teacher: really? That is a pretty big dream.
Mysterious girl: Will you help me, teacher?
Teacher: Haha... don't concern yourself; I will always be there to help you and to guide you like I promised.
Mysterious girl: Then can you promise me we will build that library together?
Teacher: Yes... I promise
That was the lie I told in the fall. Why did it end so quickly? Why did it end so suddenly? What did I do to deserve this? Disregard these memories. They are but fleeting dreams that come and go. It is no different than the cool breeze that would pass through that hill. It was unreal. The world was always this gray. It always has been.