Violet Evergarden BluRay Booklet

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                                                 [] - indicates translation note
                 ---some text here--- [indicates new diary entry text inbetween the -'s is the translated title]

                                      Title: Amy Bartlett and the sun rays of spring
                                                   - author: Kana Akatsuki

                                                    "On that day it was noon"

                                                  ---A cloudy day, soft wind---

Inside of me there exists morning and deep night.

Noon almost never exists.

When it is morning, I struggle to get out of bed and live with the hope that anything might begin. In reality nothing happens,
but I always carry this thought with me: today for sure. That is how it goes almost every day.

When it is noon I sing a hymn to the life. Then I am happy, to be together with people, to feel happiness and hope that again and
again I'll be able to experience this time so that it may continue into all eternity. Time shall stand still whenever all seems
beautiful and lovely to me.

When it is night, desperation overcomes me. Everything I see disgusts me and I'd like to destroy it. I am filled with anger and
the desire to destroy all things, hope to end this life as soon as possible and just want to disappear like a soap-bubble. And
you, you as well, perish! That's what I wish for.

My life practically consist only out of morning and night. I can count on my own hands how often I've been allowed to experience
noon. From the beginning my life was a violent up and down. From birth I was without father and my mother was beaten to death by
a thug. Despite my small and frail life needing to be protected, I grew up without any protection. Even my body had to hurry and
grow up. After living through an endless amount of nights I now am here.

Amy Bartlett.
Isabella York.

And in the meantime I already carry a new family name. Since some time only the night lives inside of me. My life and emotions
are a complete mess. I cannot remember that both ever were sorted nicely. But if you tasted the noon once, one always hopes to
one day bathe in the light again. Hopes that this moment of luck waits for you. But how stupid this all is. Because such a moment
will surely never happen to me another time.

These are the recollections of a morning on which I awaited such a noon.


                                                ---Clear sky, turbulent wind---

I have slowly grown accustomed to writing this diary. On that note, I remember I haven't written down why I started writing.
Among others I need to write for my future self as an old woman, so she can read it anew. I was gifted a diary with lock
to my birthday. I didn't know how to react when he gave it to me. Maybe because I have split feelings regarding the gifter.

Who this person is?
My husband, or rather the person who occupies this role.

Apparently he felt sorry for forgetting my birthday. Said person, who plays my husband, is from a family sufficiently good for me,
who plays the role of Isabella York. In principle he should be a sensible husband to me, who's older by a few years, has
experienced excellent education and who stands out due to his diligence.
"Is he nuts?"
I'm really sorry but that is what I sometimes think about the old man. I can only laugh about him. My birthday was two months
ago, my dear spouse.

It is way too late for this. And further I am, by nature, not someone who would put much effort into a diary. If he really
knew me, he certainly wouldn't have had the idea to gift me one.

Let's think..- My little sister surely would have given me a colorful bouquet of flowers. If I decorated the dinner table
with them our stomaches wouldn't have been any fuller but their view would have soothed my soul.
And my Violet-chan surely would have gifted me a bow for my hair. After all she always did my hair.
         ^[Pure English has no way to express what I need, Violet-chan is a 100% translation though]
She was very skilled and quick in doing so with her metallic fingertips.

Honestly, had it been a gift by those two women, who are so dear to me, grass from the roadside would have made me just as happy.
The main reason I cannot be happy about it is probably that the diary is from him. I came to this conclusion after I attempted
to sort out my split emotions about him. But he is of good intentions. He didn't know what to give the much younger one who plays
his wife, which is why he made himself some effort in his own way with the diary with beautifully binding.
The wedding gifts consisted of dresses and jewels, but since then the gloomy girl had locked herself up in his private room
on the estate, because of which he probably thought a diary would fit well to her. If at all, I would have liked a book more.

My husband always tried to behave like one when thing like this come to his mind again. He possibly has feelings of guilt for
taking me as his wife. On one hand he locks up his wife within his estate, on the other he often visits the house of his mistress
who he already had before the marriage. Evidently there's a piece of his consciousness haunting him.
It's unnecessary because I couldn't care less about you.

We sold our souls to each other and got a gain out of it.

He a bloodline and the connected relationships, I the opportunity to protect the girl I love more than anything else in this world.

We both got our use out of it and entered the contract because of it. Because of this we are less a married couple and more a man
and a woman fulfilling each others wishes in exchange for our souls. This connects us but we do not love each other one bit.
Us two could never become one. By now I've understood that. Within me I started calling him the old man long ago and vice versa
he probably calls me "shitty brat" in his mind. We are of different minds, grew up differently and of different age.
In our conversations we constantly bickered. After we constantly talked at cross-purposes we spoke open for once.
We discovered that we will never be able to love one another. Therefore it would be better to play the happy married couple to
the outside world. Then we wouldn't need to further try but could both just live our own lives. At least we both agreed
to that quickly. But it was only very important to the mister to keep up appearances.
The result of his long thoughts what he could gift his "co-conspirator" to her birthday was a diary.

Old man, don't say you couldn't think of something better... a book for example? A book would've sufficed for me, I would've
preferred it. On the other hand I grew up in a very poor environment and don't want to let things go to waste. Because of this
I now sit in my room and put pen to paper.

My husband also gave me a pen-holder with the feather of a peafowl. A beautiful blue. The blue of the eyes of a beautiful human.
A color I love very much. Thinking of it I remember that I haven't written her a letter in some time. To Violet, Violet Evergarden.
The name of a human which sounds more and more beautiful the more often I write it with blue ink.
My Violet-chan, my handmaid, my secret Memory Doll. My friend.

She has forgotten me for sure. I decay here and cannot write letters. Actually it would be my turn to write a letter but I never
answered her and as such there never arrived a new letter from Violet. Since my marriage I didn't know what to write to her either.
Possibly I don't even want that she learns of my current condition. Who could hold it against me? Who would let his beloved friend
know what happens in the own marriage? I don't want that she knows how much I suffer after marrying someone I don't love.
"Hi Violet. I'm miserable", what do I get from writing her something like this?

Oh Taylor. How I'd like to see you again so much.

But it is impossible, I know that.



                                                   ---A warm day, calm wind---

Since my last entry many days passed. I decided to continue writing because I think it's interesting to look back on them.

Today I entered the garden briefly for the first time. Normally I don't even set one foot outside my room, I even let the meals
be brought there. If my husband is present we eat together from time to time to keep up the appearance. But in that case the air
is heavy, like with a father and his daughter who have grown distant from each other after years of living under the same roof.
Which is why we try to avoid shared meals.

It was a warm day, which is why the wind was so refreshing. The garden of the estate is beautiful, if not as beautiful as
the rose garden of the boarding school. I noticed that I hadn't touched earth for a long time and took some in my hand.
If nobody would've talked to me I probably would've had some other thoughts for once ... but while I gazed at the flowerbeds
the gardener suddenly appeared.

"Madam, please take a look at everything. If something is not to your liking I'll bring it in order."

That's what he said fully serious and visibly nervous. Are there things inside a garden you can bring in order or things you
cannot bring in order? It's good the way it is...

"..."

The silence was deafening. A flower caught my attention so I asked about it to which he seemed very happy and started rambling
some shoptalk. Great, I thought. I had a talk-head in front of me. In such moments I feel how little I like the contact with
other people. If I have to listen to the ramblings of someone, I feel like I'm sort of a pressure valve to them. I could listen
with interest, but instead I feel uncomfortable and want to run away most of all. With a bitter smile I give a short acknowledgement
until the chief butler arrives to notify me that my tea is ready. I use this opportunity to end the conversation.
The gardener seemed sad. He is still young and probably only wanted that his work gets recognized.

I left the garden and went back to my room, drank the black tea and only then thought that I should've praised him more.
Because maybe that is my role, after all I am officially the "madam". But I cause so many bothers and can be overly snappish,
I wonder how the girl back then was able to hold out for three months with me.

After I empty the tea I dance a small waltz on my own.


                                               ---Cloudy, hardly endurable wind---

I met my husband. Apparently he wanted to get luggage. Instead of "met" I should rather say I was ambushed by him since I was in
my room as always. He asked how I am, to which I answered that I am alive. He asked whether I'll go to the class reunion of my
school, which I also denied. He asked whether I was lacking something, but I once again deny it.
When he asked me what my favorite color is I had to think of Violets eyes and answered "blue". He wanted to know: Why?

"Because it is the eye color of the human I once loved."

At this my husband suddenly wanted to force a hug with me but I resisted with all my power. It came so suddenly that I suffered a
cough attack and threw up my entire lunch. Only then he did seem to regain his senses.

"If you don't distance yourself from me, I'll throw vomit at you!"

This sentence showed effect. Apparently my husband had a fight with his mistress.
But should that be reason enough to lay hand on the one person you had a mutual agreement that there was nothing between you with?
Exactly because of things like this I do not understand men. No, whether man or not isn't the problem. The guy probably cannot be
helped anymore. He is similar to my old man in how he thinks he can let out his temper on other people. It makes me furious.
He tries to land with the next best woman after the slightest resistance from his mistress, you cannot call that affection.
You cannot call that love. He lacks faithfulness to his mistress. She is to be pitied.

My husband on the other hand had to endure how I threw heavy words at him without hesitation until he finally left the room.

And I. And I.

And I cried, while I cleaned my room of the vomit.

                                                      I want to see Taylor.

                                                      I want to see Taylor.

                                                      I want to see Taylor.

I only want to spend my time with people that are important to me.


                                              ---Cloudy and later rain, windless---

Today it rains.

On rainy days I have to thoroughly comb Taylor's hair. The little one has incredibly beautiful curls but on days like these they
pose a problem. I am tired. But I also have to got to work, because of this I have no time in the morning.
I have to get up and comb Taylor's hair.

This went through my head as I opened my eyes. I briefly looked for the girl with curled hair but she was nowhere to be found.
I idiot briefly searched for her and wondered whether she went outside alone. For a moment I even contemplated kidnapping.
I was determined to do something and got up. But then I promptly became aware of it:

Taylor is not here.

Are you stupid Isabella? You are Isabella now. No longer Amy. And Taylor is no longer there. Taylor is already gone for so long,
how do I come up with these thoughts? Why do I hold lookout for her? Even in my doze I should've known better.
I couldn't talk with anyone about this sorrow and since I didn't know how to help myself I punched into the pillow with all my might.

I wailed.

I punched harder, harder, countless times.

I wailed even more.

With each punch I spread tears on the blanket.

From time to time something like this happens. I have feelings that people who aren't here anymore and landscapes I can no longer
see are nearby. The memories, which are engraved into my body, let me search for my lovely little sister.

Does Taylor also watch the rain?
Does it also rain where Taylor is now?
And where is Taylor even?

Does she get a good breakfast? And a good dinner? Is there someone who combs her hair on rainy days? With all these thoughts and
tears, which run down my cheeks, I look out the window. It thunders, which startles me so much I fall on my behind.

For all I care lightning can strike this place. If this estate takes damage through it I would not complain. I spend my day
chasing such thoughts.


                                              ---Fair and later cloudy, damp air---

Today I had a stomachache and constantly had to run to the bathroom. I always think this every time I have my period: Why does it
have to be so gruesome? If I was god, would I have made menstruation so painful? Besides I doubt whether this function is even
necessary for me.

I think I live without it.

Please take that away from me.

But I would also be scared of that.

At least I would like to lose the pain. I just cannot endure the pain. Even my constant coughing makes my eyes tear up. It is so
excruciating that I cannot help myself. Even if I don't want to link menstruation with it I have to think of the succession. Of
the fact that we are pretending to be a married couple. Despite the fact that the topic is on ice. If my father dies, I would
probably be able to fool everyone else by raising a child which my husband had with another one like my own.
There are various options.

I like children. That's why I'm sure I would be able to raise the child of another full of love. But I would pity the child.
In the end it is the best if a child is with its birth-mother. If I look at it that way I'm no longer needed, but I am
indispensable for the further life-planning of my husband. A divorce therefore isn't an option.

While I write this I suddenly shudder at the thought that I look at children only as a "mechanism".
Stop it, stop it, forget everything you thought about just now.

Am I not the best example what happens if you do not waste a thought about your own child? I cannot inflict on others the same
injuries I received. i don't like the topic. Even if most days only offer the "morning" someday maybe a "noon" will come.
There are two women in my life who taught me this. Someday everything will be all right.
Oh if I only wasn't born as a human but, well, as some being that can reproduce through splitting.

Maybe I would've considered children of my own if only my emotions wouldn't be in the way of the survival of the species and the
bodily stress would be lower.

How dislikeable my husbands recent attack was. I was shocked. Later I persuaded myself that I'm fine and that I can handle it.

But in the end nobody who is hurt is fine.


                                          ---Crescent moon day, cloudy, strong wind---

Today something horrible happened.

Surely there are people who love to occupy themselves with it, but I am different. How do I call it? Gossip, scandals? Something
along those lines. Because there was an improper incident in the estate.

What kind of incident? Well the gardener and one of my handmaid's apparently had to do the act in my husbands bedchamber.
Since my spouse is often at his mistresses place, they probably became careless. I myself only was in his room a few times.
The furniture was selected with the color black as an emphasis and it is exceptionally beautiful to look at, including the
stuffed animals which await the return of their master.
The room emanates a peculiar atmosphere. I wouldn't call it a room fit for secret meetings with young lovers but it has a certain
character. And it radiates an aura of improperness. Probably they found it especially exciting to hold their trysts in their
masters bedchamber. I cannot blandish it, that's for sure.

Despite that it is the fault of two very young people of almost my age. And I would have wished they would've come out of it with
only a strong talking to. But my husband was outraged.

In one of his very rare visits to the estate he must have caught them in the act. I could hear his thundering voice even in my
room as well as the sound of shattering furniture. It was horrible. Loud, rage filled voices of men is among the thing I hate.
Just like violence.

But it became worse after that. After some time silence returned and the gate of the estate was opened, which is why I looked
through the window. I could see how a man and a woman were chased out into the cold evening breeze without permitting them to
collect their belongings beforehand. It almost seemed gruesome how the door closed again and both stood completely scared and
clueless in front of the entrance to the estate. My husband must've been very angry, that I can understand. I also would have
been abhorred that something like this could happen in my room. But I do not have understanding for his reaction. He could went
his anger by chasing them out. But what will become of them without their belongings?

Will they become beggars?
Will they become bandits?
Will they be killed by bandits?

One of the two will maybe be forced to sell their body. But he probably can't imagine such a future. And even if he could, he
wouldn't care.

But it had to come to this. My husband was raised without ever suffering starvation.

                                              "I would like to get even with him."

This thought didn't occur to me due to being angered by my husbands behavior but more in response to the fate that wants to bring
my life out of order, against god or something of that kind. My anger aimed at that. What did I do the last time that I was in a
similar situation? I had made the little girl who deserved to be the happiest in the world my little sister.

So I sprung into action this time as well. I hesitated for but a moment but then I got up from the window and went into the
quarters of the staff and had them hand me the belongings of the two. The staff were surprised, probably because the otherwise
silent freshly married wife of the master suddenly had a mysterious drive for action. I took their things but didn't leave the
estate through the front gate but through the back door along a small dark path. As expected I found both young people silently
crying and completely helpless.
"What should we do now?"
"If only we hadn't done it."
Hand in hand they stood there and cried.
It seemed like a scene out of a drama, only that the sadness was real.
"Hi you two. You forgot this. Please take it with you."
"Are you.. the madam?"
"Yes that's me."
".. uhm, please forgive.."
"I am not here for an apology."
I would have loved to give them some money but unluckily I did not have any with me. As such I gave them my hairpin with beautiful
engravings I had received as a wedding gift as well as a decoration on my clothing. Additionally I ripped of a beautiful button.
If they sold it it should be sufficient for their traveling expenses.
Both were completely stunned.
".. Excuse me, are you really the lady of the house?"
"Did my initial answer not suffice?"
They asked my why I would help them to which I shrugged my shoulders and said:
"Because I thought it was necessary."
"But we did something unforgivable in your estate."
"That might be the case. But the way you were chased out and in turn the way your lives could be endangered is unforgivable."
"But..."
"It is not as though you murdered someone, as such you should at least get your belongings. I apologize in my husbands stead."
I said the words rather dry, but the young man could not contain his tears. In truth there was an additional reason why I helped
you. If you asked me... well because

                                             Because I have nobody who can help me.

Probably nobody knows about it but day in day out, I wish to be freed. But it is true. I desperately wish to be freed. I long for
freedom. Otherwise I'll hang a rope around my neck one day. Before it comes to that I wish that someone frees me.

                                                            Free me.

                                                            Free me.

                                                            Free me.

From the loneliness, the sorrows that threatens to suffocate me. But this someone, who will save me from all this, will never come.

I have nobody who takes my hand at night on the dark street. This is why I give people what I am not allowed to have. I give them
everything. That is my consequence. That is my revenge on god. I always followed this path. Back then I took in a little girl and
made her my sister. I could not say all that to those two but I whispered it in the deepest parts of my heart. Only someone who,
like me, knows of poverty is able to stretch out a helping hand to such foolish lovers.

"Is there a place you can got?"
"My homeland. I'd like to take her there."
"Can you pay for both tickets?"
"If we sell what you gave is... maybe."
"The coin changer will try to take advantage of your situation, so do not take the first offer. You need to protect your girlfriend.
And if the worst people jump you, you never abandon a girl!"
"Madam, who exactly are you?"
Because of this intimidated sounding question I could not help but laugh into the dark night.
"I am Isabella York. Even if I took on a new family name in the meantime."

We did not speak much more but I nonetheless hoped that the two arrived safely in his homeland.



                                                      ---Rain, wet wind---

A doctor visited the estate today. My current self with a meaningless family name differs significantly from Amy Bartlett and
Isabella York. But some stays the same. For example my weak bronchi. While I let myself be examined I thought about heaven and hell.

Even if heaven and hell are different in their core, life would not differ much in both places once one grew accustomed to it.
Naturally the side effects and experiences would be completely different. I only want to say that with growing accustomed the own
thinking is paralyzed and on self accepts this state. That's called resistance.
One of the abilities that is innate to a human. A truly wonderful ability.

Why did something like this cross my mind? Because the doctor held an endless sermon.
"Miss Isabella, please take care not to ingest too much of your medicine."
This doctor, who always gives me the medicine for my lungs, tells me something about medicine-resistances. The body apparently
grows accustomed even to medication if you take in too much, and the effectiveness is reduced.
Overdosing apparently is fatal, it also is not good to take some on those days where no symptoms are present out of precaution.
Because I felt uneasy I did not look into the doctors eyes but stared at a lint on his sweater the entire time.
"You must not become addicted to it."
I just did not listen to his ramblings.
"The healing of the body lies, in the end, with you, the medicine is no more than an aid.
Many people who tend to be dejected are haunted by their bronchi..."

You annoy me, shut up.

"Go outside, take a walk or visit a circle. It is not helpful for your health that you stay indoors all day."

You don't know anything about me, nothing at all.

"You no longer are a boarding school student but a fine young lady, as such maybe use your connections a bit to get outside."

Don't talk bullshit. My body was and is a prison.

"If you continue on like this, you will not be privy to a long life."

Has anyone ever claimed I wanted to live long?

Who said that? It wasn't me at least! Otherwise I would surely break out in tears if someone ordered me to die here and now.
The doctor is not at fault, but I currently do not have anyone else I can vent my emotions on, which is why I insult him in my mind.
It possibly could have been observed. I am sorry.

In order to thank the doctor, also as a sign of my regret, I escort him to the gate as a goodbye. It has been a long time since I
left the house. After the run-in with the gardener and him later being chased out, everyone and everything was so abhorrent to me
that I did not set one foot outside the estate. After the doctor had departed in his carriage I wanted to immediately return inside
when i suddenly spotted someone with golden hair not unlike Violet's in the distance. A moment later this magical moment vanished.
On closer inspection the person turned out to be a man and I mocked myself for getting so excited only because of the hair color.


                                        ---At times cold and at times warm, calm wind---

I was told it was not good for my body if I did not get enough sunlight which is why I begrudgingly went outside today. But I do
not want that inhabitants of the surrounding see me. Because of this I hid my face under an umbrella and walked until I arrive at
a place where not one should wanders around. There, I watched the flowers and the green of nature.

In the estate I almost only feel gloom but out here I feel a little lighter. A small breeze threatened to rip the umbrella out of
my hand. Could it not take me with it as well? Nobody would mourn for me. I only want to disappear to anywhere.


                                              ---Lukewarm temperature, dull air---

I have thought about the "resistance" the doctor told me the other day about for a long time. What would become of people if they
didn't have any resistances? In the winter they would die to the cold, in the summer to the heat. Likewise the weakest illness or
the smallest wound would kill. Surely humans are equipped with this ability in order to adapt to different situations and survive.
it is similar with luck and misfortune. Both can become natural if it controls them everyday. Without resistance one could not hold
out a lot of things but at the same time it poses the danger of emotionally numbing.
My past self has no other option than to appreciate or suffer under whatever the day brought her. I suppose if the pain this world
inflicts on you becomes daily routine you cannot change anything about it anymore. Maybe it is the same with fortune.
If wonderful days are chained one after another endlessly, they are nothing but daily routine.

With enough distance I finally grasped this today.

"Oh how miserable I was back then" and so on.

"Oh how blessed by luck I was" and stuff along those lines.

Today I finally understood that since I can now view my past objectively. While you are still in the maelstrom of events, you
cannot understand it. Because you are resistant to it. This is why it took the time from taking on the name Isabella York to
exchanging it for some other meaningless family name until today to understand:

                                          That the passed days are irreplaceable to me.

My life will probably end on the estate. But if my life replays in front of my eyes then, it will not be this place which I remember.
I will remember my most lovely little sister and that woman which counts as my first love. I will remember how I shared my soup,
consisting only of vegetable pieces, with my sister, how we slept closely snuggled together on cold days and how she called me
[insert English translation for neenee] and her childish manner of speech.

Likewise I will remember how I danced at the formal dance of the boarding school with the most beautiful woman of all. Only
things like that. Back then I was happy. Since some years have passed and only today I notice.

But in recent time it is so bitter, bitter and painful. I have the feeling that my resistance is weakening. The resistance against
sadness. It's getting weaker. Everything is so bitter. So painful. I want to be freed. Can a person truly live on despite this
loneliness? Should I not be accustomed to sadness? Should I not be accustomed to loneliness? After my mother died? After I let go
of Taylor's hand? After I waived my love goodbye? All these years you were filled with sadness. Did you not grow accustomed to it?
Be resistant!

Give me my resistance back dear god.
I want to become emotionless. I do not need feelings anymore.

Give me the strength to continue living despite my loneliness.

And if that's not possible, dear god, please tell me whether Taylor is happy.

If I knew that , I could hold out until my death.


      [For the following pages I have included page break comments, the background is pitch black while the text is white]




                                                       I mourn, I suffer.

                                                          Today rain.

                                                          Loneliness.

                                                           Today sun.

                                                        Boredom, boredom.

                                                          Today clouds.

                                                Heavy coughing, in parts bloody.

                                                           Today sun.

                                                 Don't touch me, don't touch me.

                                                  Today parts sun, parts rain.

                                                        Now is tomorrow.

                                                  Tomorrow is the next morning.



                                                          [next page]



                                                     The noon doesn't come.

                                                           Today rain.

                                                       Tomorrow also rain.

                                                  Today is, today is, today is.

                                                            Morning...          [could also be Tomorrow, same word in German]

                                         Also tomorrow as well as the day after tomorrow.

                                          Also on the day after and the the after that.

                                               Until all eternity I'll be lonely.

                                                      Nothing good happens.

                                                   The sun rays don't touch me.

                                                    The morning will not end.

                                     If the noon doesn't come there's no point to anything.



                                                          [next page]



                                                      Why do I live at all?

                                        The morning with nothing but dreams has no point.

                                       If there doesn't arrive another beautiful moment...

                                                       Life has no point.

                                                I want to live but to what avail?

                                          What view... do I want.. in front of my eyes?

                                 How a dream stays a dream, so will be today, will be tomorrow,

                                                      will in all eternity,

                                                      will in all eternity,

                                         will in all eternity, all eternity, the noon...







                                                          [next page]



                                                        never come again.

























                                      [additional black page follows to cover entire spread]

                               [formatting returns to normal diary format, colors revert as well]

                                               ---A very sunny day, warm breeze---

Today a letter arrived.

After a long time I write a proper diary entry again. There also was a wonderful young man with golden hair and blue eyes just
like Violet and he brought me a letter from Taylor. He is a mailman at the C.H.-Postoffice, in which Violet Evergarden is also employed.
I haven't written her a letter for so long but she still remembers me, my little sister and we were always close to her heart.

Taylor apparently escaped the orphanage all on her own. I was shocked. She has grown up enough to pull off such a plan on her own.
Ah, I ask myself, after whom does she take with this reckless action? Possibly after me?

I do not know, what I should do, I do not know what, I should do. How happy it made me that she looked for me. That she wrote a
letter to me. That she wants to see me. I would not have thought that I will experience something this beautiful again in my life.
And now I know what I must do. I write here under tears.
The drops leave traces on the paper. Will she visit me one day when she is more grown up?

Somehow it feels as if the time until today stood still. There can happen wonderful things after all. After I have spent my days
so still and motionless. After my heart was bursting. After I was about to give up my body. Oh woe! Gosh! But now I know...








                                       As long as you just live, the noon will come again.
                                                         Right, Taylor?



                                                           [next page]

With time I get older and the world changes.

In front of my eyes, which for a long time have viewed everything with a cold gaze, the colors change. And bit by bit there will
be more and more things that mean something to me, as well as those I do not care about. But I will take all that upon me and live.

Live, live, live.

If I continue living, the day will surely come.	[Probably new entry but not marked as such, just left it as is]

Today is the day on which the person I am so familiar with finishes her vocational training in the company my most beloved works
and begins to work on her own after she is already called "Luck bringing Mailwoman" by everyone. Apparently "he" was it who
ordered for her to deliver my mail. I am so grateful to him.
I will be in his debt my entire life. I wish I could show my gratitude somehow.

Since I received the message from him I could not wait and already stood outside since the early morning.
On a peaceful spring morning. It was quite cold and so I wrapped a scarf around me and waited impatiently.
Waited for my fate on the backside of the estate.

Next to my Violet-chan there is only one other person in the world for whom I would wait for all eternity. I look at the unchanged
nature until I finally get a glimpse at your figure a bit later. How tall and beautiful you have become. How you sit splendidly
on your motorcycle.

Ah you have truly become beautiful.

So tall and strong.

You know I've hear the stories. That in the beginning you could not even remember the street names. That you still get scolded
for your messy handwriting. I bet your bad habit of not eating your vegetables still persists until today. Is there somebody you
have fallen in love with? Tell me of your travels that you took with your friends.

You do not need to walk so hastily towards me. I will not go away. I cannot leave here. That's why it's okay if you approach me
very slow and calm. You have come the entire way to see me. I am very grateful to you. I have waited for so long.

Then you speak to me with a smile so radiant like the sun:
"Here is you mail, Mrs I..."

She almost called me Isabella but shakes her head and corrects herself.

"Here is your mail, Miss Amy Bartlett."


With shaking hands I sign that I have received the mail. While I do so, as I expected, I start crying.

"...you aren't allowed to cry, [insert English translation for neenee]."

She said with a cute voice that tickles in the ears. Then we both took each others hand.

"Yes, but you... you have become so incredibly tall and I am so happy..."

Oh, dear god.

"From now on I will always be responsible for your mail. I will be forever, forever be your and only your mailwoman."

Until now I only ever complained and scolded.

"... Yes, I am so happy."

But today I want to thank you. Dear god, I will...

"Taylor, tell..."

                                                           [next page]









                                           I want to live a little longer because the
                                     world, in which this girl lives, is so important to me.
















                                             [Booklet ends here, backside is empty]