Lost but regained

This is the tale of MOMO that I used to love when I was 11.

Momo, by Michael Ende.

Momo, my first love.

[...]

"So?you like it here, do you?"

Momo nodded.

"And you want to stay here?"

"Yes, very much."

"I mean, shouldn't you go home?"

"This is my home," Momo said promptly.

"But where do you come from?"

Momo gestured vaguely at some undefined spot in the far distance.

"When were you born?"

"As far as I can remember... I've always been around."

"How old are you really?"

Momo hesitated. "A hundred," she said.

They all laughed because they thought she was joking.

"No seriously, how old are you?"

"A hundred and two," Momo replied, still more hesitantly.

Momo was staring at them wide-eyed, but neither man quite knew how to interprete her gaze... Although her expression gave no clue, they suddenly seems to see themselves mirrored in her eyes and began to feel sheepish.

Many were the evenings when... she would sit by herself in the middle of the old stoe amphitheatre, with the sky's starry vault overhead, and simply listen to the great silence around her.

Whenever she did this, she felt she was sitting at the centre of a giant ear, listening to the world of the Stars... On nights like these, she always had the most beautiful dreams.

There were even moments when she wished she had never heard the music or seen the flowers. And yet, had she been offered a choice, nothing in the world would have induced her to part with her memories of them, not even the prospect of death. Yes, death, for she now discovered that there are treasures capable of destroying those who have no one to share them with.

[...]