I kicked the rocks along the road. Cars rarely drove by here so I walked along the white line that separated the lines. It would take me home. My record was 4 kicks with the same rock, eventually they'd skip off to one side, too far for me to find it again. Suddenly I gained conscience of my bag hanging on my right shoulder. It was quite heavy today, history textbook, science papers, stacks of notes, diary. Diary, I stopped and swung my bag around to take out my diary. As I did so, I slowly took in the setting. On my left and right, empty, green fields stretched as far as I could see. Ahead, the road sloped uphill, a grey road with a bright white line. Behind me, no, I did not turn around. Behind me is my past. I sat down, then crossed my legs and rested the heavy book on my right leg. I wrote and wrote. I told my story, from the very beginning, or as soon as I could remember at least. I wrote them for you, I wanted you to know. I thought you'd come and find me. I told you about real happiness and I told you about real sorrow. Tears filled my eyes till I drenched the paper and could barely see. When I was done, I looked up. The sun had sunk behind the forests, a dim orange glow shone on the fields. I think I saw you walking towards me. When I stood up, I heard a faint humming behind me. The sound grew louder, I balanced on the white line. I can't look back at the past, I balanced on the white line. It's behind me now, I balanced on the white line. I balanced on the white line, till I reached you.