Autumn leaves in a dry spring

The new upcoming light

 A young man who looked ten years younger than me entered the theater and spoke a few sentences... "I went in because they told me that you had good plays here, but I see that the theater is down and everything is broken. Even so, it's not too late", he murmured downcast. Looking at me, with tears still in my eyes, he asked me pointedly with a calm and tender smile:

"You still have a long way to go, right? If so, don't regret the past. That's what you told me when we were young, although you were much older than me, you told me many times that I should never let myself be carried away by the past. Do you remember? In your youth, you told me a story of spring and autumn leaves, the story that subtly told me that if one day you came to accept what you did not want to admit and what you did not want to see, I should came to the theater when I felt that that day was about to come. Hey, don't cry more, dry your tears. It is already too late to amend the past from the past. The stars shines, remember? Don't hurt yourself anymore, it's late but you can still start from scratch. You will not fix the past, but you will be able to create a new future and past from your present. You trusted me with your heart and I promised to help you, so get up, we have a lot of cleaning and fixing to do! Let's make the new works even better than the old ones! You have one last work to present".

Oh, that's right... My first play wasn't a huge success. I was an inexperienced young girl who was looking for a way to get rid of her emotions temporarily from her, on the way to achieve it, during my twenty-four years I studied everything necessary for it, meeting good artists and good companions. Good memories never prevail in my memory. It is not my desire nor my control to just remember the pain. In one of all the attempts, having already obtained my certificate and opening the theater, the friend I had from my earliest childhood already saw these problems in me: I was not able to express myself, I could not feel positive emotions, my own thoughts murdered me. There's so much I don't understand... How is it that our minds kill us more than real murders, typical of movies. But this boy's kindness never left me. Not now, not never. He never buried me, he was so good that I used to thought it was false, an illusion, a utopia but it wasn't. What was my work about, then? My disastrous first story was a review and criticism of the illusions that we created in disbelief of the reality that one day we will have to face. He was also the one who helped me complete it. 

"Stars shine after years of impacts from other fallen stars. They are not perfect, there is no perfection. Do not forget anything that gives you shine but do not dazzle it either, the light looks beautiful but this is treacherous ", a paragraph that he wrote to me at the end of the discarded scripts. If I think about it coldly, I was not alone, I had simply lost myself before the overwhelming pain that I had been carrying for a long time. 

As Ikari told me, it wasn't too late to find myself again. And so we did, together, from zero.