I have spent the last hour wondering how to start. Was I suppose to write something special or unusual, perhaps? After a lot of thought I have come to a conclusion that I should write something that matters. :) Which is why I picked up one of my old writings. A scene I had written for a short dialogue-writing assignment. Something with a little moral and a lot of character. A good start, I suppose! Here we go...
"What are you thinking?" My mother asks, as she sits beside me on the bench, the one that daddy put up last summer. I look at her and wonder for a moment.
Staring back at the beautiful fields, I say softly, “Sometimes I wish I could go back in time. But I suppose, that’s never possible, is it?” I ask; looking back at her, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice. But it is a feeble attempt.
“No, it isn't. But it is better this way.” she replies, sipping noiselessly from her cup of tea.
Surprised, “Why would you say that?” I ask.
She shrugs, “Why would you want to go back in time when you should be going on with it?”
“But don’t you wish for all those good moments to come back in your life. Ever?”
“No” She says gently.
My face falls at that.
“But that’s partly because I don’t remember much.” She adds. “My dear girl, what we look for is here. And we miss out because it is simply difficult to move on.”
“It isn't so simple sometimes” I say, disheartened. Thinking of all those times gone. All the time; lost.
“But it is voluntary all the time!” She smiles.
I remain silent at that.
“It’s like the summer!” She says. “The warmth of which is always cherished!”
“But it goes away too, just like everything else!” I protest.
“The way I see it, it comes back again with even more warmth and comfort to cherish, but if you choose to sit inside, you simply miss out!”
"What are you thinking?" My mother asks, as she sits beside me on the bench, the one that daddy put up last summer. I look at her and wonder for a moment.
Staring back at the beautiful fields, I say softly, “Sometimes I wish I could go back in time. But I suppose, that’s never possible, is it?” I ask; looking back at her, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice. But it is a feeble attempt.
“No, it isn't. But it is better this way.” she replies, sipping noiselessly from her cup of tea.
Surprised, “Why would you say that?” I ask.
She shrugs, “Why would you want to go back in time when you should be going on with it?”
“But don’t you wish for all those good moments to come back in your life. Ever?”
“No” She says gently.
My face falls at that.
“But that’s partly because I don’t remember much.” She adds. “My dear girl, what we look for is here. And we miss out because it is simply difficult to move on.”
“It isn't so simple sometimes” I say, disheartened. Thinking of all those times gone. All the time; lost.
“But it is voluntary all the time!” She smiles.
I remain silent at that.
“It’s like the summer!” She says. “The warmth of which is always cherished!”
“But it goes away too, just like everything else!” I protest.
“The way I see it, it comes back again with even more warmth and comfort to cherish, but if you choose to sit inside, you simply miss out!”
