Once upon a time, amidst the gentle embrace of rolling hills and flourishing meadows, there existed a quaint little town where dreams bloomed like wildflowers in the springtime breeze. In this picturesque haven, resided a young man named Thomas, whose heart danced to the rhythm of nature's melody, and whose aspirations soared like kites against the boundless sky. Thomas was a soldier, serving his country with honour and bravery. He had been deployed to a faraway land, leaving behind his family and loved ones. It had been months since he had seen his parents, his siblings, and his sweetheart, Emily. Every day, Thomas would anticipate with bated breath the arrival of a letter from home, yearning to embrace the familiar voices and to bask in the tender warmth of their affection conveyed through ink-stained pages. Those letters became his lifeline, weaving a delicate thread that tethered him to the life he had bid farewell to. And then, one evening, as the sun descended in a blaze of fiery colours, casting the world in a surreal glow, a letter arrived, carrying with it the whispers of home and the embrace of loved ones from afar. With trembling hands, Thomas delicately tore open the envelope, his heart pounding with anticipation as he unfolded the precious parchment within. As his eyes scanned the graceful curves of his mother's handwriting, a wave of emotion crashed over him, stirring the depths of his soul. Tears welled up, blurring the lines of the heartfelt message that spoke of love, longing, and an unyielding sense of pride. In her words, he found solace amidst the vast expanse of distance, as she painted a portrait of home with every stroke of her pen. She reminisced of the warmth of his presence, the echoes of his laughter that once filled the empty spaces of their abode, and confessed how each passing day felt incomplete without his familiar embrace. And amidst her words, a flicker of hope burned brightly – a candle lit in the darkness, a silent prayer whispered on his behalf, illuminating the path that would one day lead him back into her loving arms Thomas clung to every word, each syllable a lifeline to the world he had left behind. With each sentence, memories unfurled like delicate petals, saturating his senses with the essence of home. He could almost taste his mother's freshly baked apple pie, warm and fragrant from the oven; hear his father's jovial laughter echoing through the halls, a comforting melody that resonated deep within his soul; and feel the gentle pressure of Emily's hand intertwined with his own, a tangible reminder of love's enduring embrace. In the intimacy of those written words, he found solace and sanctuary, the letter becoming a cherished portal that transcended time and space, whisking him away to the familiar comforts of home, if only for a fleeting moment. In response, Thomas dipped his pen into the inkwell, each stroke a testament to the emotions swirling within him. With each word carefully crafted, he poured his soul onto the parchment, laying bare his innermost thoughts and feelings. In the gentle dance of his handwriting, he shared the tapestry of his experiences – the camaraderie forged in the crucible of conflict, the whispered confessions beneath starlit skies, and the resilience that blossomed amidst the chaos of war. He spoke of the breathtaking landscapes that stretched before him, each vista a painting etched in the memory of his heart, and the indomitable spirit of humanity that flickered like a beacon in the darkest of nights. And as he penned his hopes for the future, he painted a portrait of a world bathed in the golden light of possibility, where peace reigned supreme and love knew no boundaries. As days melted into weeks, and weeks into months, the passage of time became a blur, each moment merging seamlessly into the next like colours blending on an artist's palette. Each sunrise whispered of new beginnings, while every sunset whispered of endings, weaving a tapestry of memories that stretched across the canvas of our lives. Thomas continued to exchange letters with his family, each one bringing him closer to his loved ones, even though they were physically miles apart. The letters became a lifeline not only for Thomas but also for his family, who eagerly awaited news of his well-being and clung to the hope of his safe return As the war's echoes began to fade, a letter arrived that shimmered with the promise of a new dawn. It bore the name of Emily, Thomas's beloved, whose words danced across the page with an effervescence that mirrored the joy in her heart. With each sentence, her excitement leapt off the parchment, painting the air with hues of love and anticipation. Thomas's heart, heavy with the weight of separation, now soared on wings of elation as he absorbed the news of their engagement. In that moment, time stood still, and the distance between them melted away into nothingness. His longing for Emily's

When there are so many problems in the world, let us not make things worse. And there are no preconditions for self-development here, to be honest, sometimes one wants to fall into a lethargic dream or constantly yawn (which is indecent in a civilized society) from these strange speeches, where people are trying to find motivation. What can be funnier and sadder at the same time, where a healthy person full of strength and energy, afraid of taking risks, making mistakes and winning, is trying to find non-existent instructions for his life? That's absurd. Do not search for what you already know in your heart. Slowing down and laziness are almost the most useless things in the world. At least, boring so precisely. Well, when we have figured out the nuances that will be discussed in this letter, or rather, these is not here — let's begins. P.S. You have to read out loud to put a point. How little time is given to us to think about it after all? Stop with your eyes covered, breathe fresh air and just think. Preferably about the past, because it's the only thing that defines you now. I think the connection between us was formed the first time we met. This woman, descended from the pages of her favorite Victorian novels, was exactly like the heroines at the English court. Intelligent enough, mysterious enough, known her own value. She wasn't a great beauty, but she didn't need it. She had much more — a bright, blinding light — the fire to life, which made me, young, reach out to him. “You have to reread what you've written out loud three times, and only then you have to put a dot.” “There must be a mystery in a woman that will give a man a field for imagination.” She was not just my teacher of literature, no, rather a spiritual mentor, brought up in me something that I thought I could not possess.I was always fascinated by her her dazzling love of language and literature. The way she could forget the time, telling a poem of her favorite poet in 3 languages or with rapture read an excerpt from “The Master and Margarita”. She wanted to bring her world to us and, unfortunately, not many of us were ready to accept it. It was the highest point of professionalism that everyone dreamed of achieving — to dissolve in what you do without fear of being misunderstood. If only you could attend one of her lessons, you would understand me. There is no better teacher in the whole world — that's my axiom. We didn't just read interesting stories about some characters, we lived a whole world woven from incredible crossroads, we immersed ourselves in the culture of that era and the country where the events took place, and we learned to think like those people, to understand their actions and to empathize with them. Everything that was going on in that office was like the entrance to Narnia: crazy magic.It was this woman who made me not just open up to something new and unknown, she made me believe that I could do it, she taught me to see things right and not be afraid to express my thoughts on paper, and I dare to think that what I was doing and writing, she liked it. The last time I saw her was at an event of some kind. She sat in the front rows, as always dressed up and beautiful. My best schoolteacher. How long has it been since... We didn't talk, but for 10 minutes I couldn't take my eyes off her, admitting and understanding that woman meant so much to me, so much that sometimes it got scary. The night I got my work, which was in her possession until she was fired from school, I was so terribly confused. I didn't know what to think. I was overcome by sadness at the thought that she didn't want to remember me or that I had unwittingly become a sad reminder of a job that was her whole life. I cried for an hour over those works, remembering in every detail the path I had taken. All those years trying to be her best student, imitating this woman, the greatest teacher, in a crazy race with time, I never understood what she had done for me. She saved me with these works for long-forgotten competitions. Even years later, reminding me who I am and what I really must do. Someone says that history should touch the reader, causing slight nausea and suffocation. It seems to be the same with people. At least that's what happened to me. Other people make us human. So look back and say “thank you” to that very person whenever you can. “How many words in the world and nonsense can't find the right 'thank you'. I am grateful for your faith and the crazy work you have done to show me the way to myself. Without knowing it, it was you who showed me what a determined look and an ever-burning heart means. I learned to fall in love with simple plots, reading the riddle between the lines, and to see the genius in a completely, at first glance, delusional phrases. As Heathcliff would say- “He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” With love, warm regards, forever your student”.

Dearest Winter, Howdy Winter boy! How farest thou? (Isn't that a swell Shakespearian greeting!) I hope you are in the best of your health and joyous 😊 I write today, Winter boy, to tell you that I fathom not how the pages of Rainbow Valley dawn upon me a joyful sorrow. But trust me, Winter boy, Rainbow Valley is the best novel on childhood that I've ever read. The Blythes made me blithe and the Merediths made me merry. Though the dear children of Anne have always cast a magical spell on me, in the pages of Rainbow Valley my heart went out to the Meredith children, Winter boy. The Meredith children lost their mother at Una's birth. And Mr John Meredith, their father was an absent-minded preacher. He was a remarkable preacher that the Glen had had in decades, but his children were so poorly cared for. Not that he didn't care, indeed he cared and loved them much, but as I mentioned earlier, he was very absent-minded to the present world, and most often lost himself to the pages of theological books. But despite their deepest depths, they belonged to the race that knew Joseph and was soon acquainted with the Blythes as dear chums. Now, Winter boy, you might wonder what moved my heart to each of these children. Well, that's what's coming for you in my further narration. These children were young and wild and free. Faith would ride pigs, Jerry would attend the Methodist prayer meeting when he was a Presbyterian, Carl would put an eel in old Mrs Carr's buggy, and Una, the timid one was wont to dreadful thoughts on stepmothers. But you know what, Winter dear, I found their naughtiness cute. It reminded me of when we were small children. I'll now narrate an episode for you. The Meredith girls were oblivious to the gossips around their shabby manse in the Glen until Mary Vance brought them the news. So, Faith and Una decided to clean their manse. And clean they did. But, Winter boy, these poor kids got messed up with the days, that instead of cleaning on Monday, as they'd thought, they cleaned on Sunday. This arose a sensation in the Glen church and brought a bad name to their father. Faith was ambitious to clear her father's disrepute. She decided that she would clear it the forthcoming Sunday when her father was away to a nearby town to deliver the sermon. That Sunday held strange awe for Faith. When Dr Cooper had concluded the sermon and the organist had brought forth the music of the anthem for the collection, Faith got up from her pew and went to the pulpit platform. Instead of speaking bravely as she had rehearsed, her throat went dry. It was Bertie Drew who saved the situation. Sitting in the front pew, he made a scorning face at Faith, whence her bravado returned mightily. She promptly made a dreadful face back at him and clearing her throat began thus: "I want to explain something. People are saying that Una and I stayed home last Sunday and cleaned house instead of going to Sunday School. Well, we did–but we didn't mean to. We got mixed up in the days of the week. It was all Elder Baxter's fault because he went and changed the prayer-meeting to Wednesday night and then we thought Thursday was Friday and so on till we thought Saturday was Sunday. Carl was laid up sick and so was Aunt Martha, so they couldn't put us right. We went to Sunday School in all that rain on Saturday and nobody came. And then we thought we'd clean house on Monday and stop old cats from talking about how dirty the manse was and we did. So, it isn't right for any of you to blame my father for this, because he was away and didn't know, and anyhow we thought it was Monday. He's just the best father that ever lived in the world and we love him with all our hearts." This was what she quoted, Winter dear. And I love Faith and her siblings ardently for their cute naughtiness. But you know what, these young children had to follow when Walter's old Piper played his music. Now I'll quote something that Jem said: “Oh, I wish we had the old days back again, I'd love to be a soldier–a great, triumphant general. I'd give everything to see a big battle.” Winter boy, I'm now strangely emotional. For Jem and the other boys were to be soldiers and were to see a greater battle than had ever been fought in the world. These lads who were to fight and perhaps fall on the fields were still roguish schoolboys with a fair life in prospect before them and these girls whose hearts were to be wrung were yet fair little maidens a-star with hopes and dreams. I now have no words to write further, Winter dear. For I'm unable to put a name to the weird feeling in my heart. Love you much. Write to me soon. I'm waiting eagerly. Take good care of your health. I'll make you a raspberry cake and a cream bun when you arrive this weekend. And, there's another charming thing about the Rainbow Valley, the children who remained alive, grew up to marry their childhood sweethearts, just like us ❤ With a kiss of love and a red rose, Your beloved.

To Marques. I'm gonna say the most disgusting thing you've ever heard. I like you. I've always liked you i just made sure that it was low-key. Since we're obviously so much better as friends. But I don't want to be your friend, i mean I do. I just thought that I was gonna able to become better friends with you. Back when we first started talking. I thought you were kinda on my side, I was going through a lot, and I still am but I was happy to have a person to talk to. You didn't seem to judge me. To Marques. I don't know why everyone keeps saying I'm in love with you cause I don't think that's the case. I do, feel attracted to you though. Since at the time i looked at you as a younger brother you were someone close to me in my friend group that I could trust. You kinda just listened, which I needed at the time. You also stared a lot. It was creepy.. But it felt like you were really looking at me and I mean, you have beautiful childish intellectual eyes. You're definitely not brain dead but you act like it. You'll probably never see this but, I kinda just wanted to apologize on paper. I'm so much more fluent when I'm writing out my feelings, and this is something I thought was necessary to get out. I'm sorry, for hurting you. Not physically but you know. I, truly considered you someone close in my friend group. Someone i could trust since I don't really trust people. But I've lost that, I've lost you and I wish I hadn't because you were one of the greater things that came out of me transferring, and I love you and, I love you, a lot. And I'm totally disgusting so I don't blame you for like getting rid of me, I'd do the same. I'm sorry for my clingy personality, affection only runs through me in my house so I usually pass it in to those dearest to me. I'm sorry I wasn't a better associate to you, I'm really the worst. And you know I kinda wish that I was aware of my physical attraction to you. I felt something I just, couldn't gravitate it then like I can now. I wish I told you sooner.. The day we went on winter break last year would have been a perfect time and day. Funny, that same night I actually died! Um. I stopped breathing. My soul kinda slipped out, oops! Haha.. I guess I did kinda go somewhere.. But with all this going on now I really just want to talk and verbally communicate with you. I miss you, a lot. And because we aren't, knowingly close I don't know. I missed my chance which sucks, but i love you. Like, legit love and care. This is my closure to you because I wasn't satisfied with the one you gave me. You don't have to respond, you don't have to look my way. You can burn this afterwards if you want too. But this is my closure, and I truly wish you nothing but happiness and the best in your future. To Marques. I'm so.. engrossed by you. And I, have had these feelings for you since.. 9th grade. They became stronger last year. I didn't tell you because, look. Look at how we are now. I love you. No i like you.. I'm so in love, with the thought that I'm in love with you. I'm in love with you.