I loved going to school.
Whenever I thought about those days, I could almost see flowers blooming everywhere.
The funny thing was, there weren’t actually many flowers at school.
It was simply because I loved being there.
In my mind, the school always looked like a garden in full bloom.
I had another strange habit like that.
Whenever I thought about my father’s grave, I would think of the crescent moon outside the city.
That same thin moon always seemed to be hanging crookedly over the countryside, gently swaying in the night breeze.
My mother had always loved flowers.
When we were poor, she never bought any for herself.
But if someone gave her even a tiny flower, she would be delighted.
She would carefully tuck it into her hair and wear it for the rest of the day.
So whenever I found a pretty little flower, I would pick one or two and bring them home for her.
“Mom, look what I found for you.”
She would smile and put the flowers in her hair.
Whenever I saw her like that, she looked years younger.
And seeing her happy made me happy too.
I truly loved my life at school.
It was simple.
It was peaceful.
For once, I didn’t have to worry about food, money, or whether there would be enough for tomorrow.
Maybe that’s why I always imagined the school covered in flowers.
My heart was happy there.
And in my childhood mind, happiness naturally looked like a garden in bloom.