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London, England.

The city where the Queen reigns and a group of five men named “One Direction” steal the hearts of teenagers across the country. The city of London, where Big Ben scratches the clouds to tell London the time. The city of London, where the “Eye” watches its citizens from across the water.

The city of London is one that is beautiful and memorable. With its historic character and astounding landmarks, there’s no way I could forget it. I’ll always remember the city for four things: the people, the food, the landmarks, and Lee Howon.

And trust me, I’ll never forget it. I’ll have these pictures and this photo album to remember. And I’ll have the memories too.

“I promise Hoya, I won’t forget London,” I said with a smile, “I promise.”

It has been thirty-years since I’ve last visited London. The city of Kings, Queens, and Harry Potter has lived its life without my presence. The trip was already a part of my distant past, but on a blue moon, I’d find myself looking back at the trip I made twenty-years ago. My hands would instinctively flip through the photo albums of that three-week trip. All the people I met, and the days that we spent together were in these photos.

I’d catch myself laughing at the good memories. Then, I’d flip the page and see pictures of him and myself.

He was a good friend. Not just a good friend, at times he seemed more than just that. He was the person who made my trip as memorable as it was. I'd always find myself staring at his pictured face and thanking him for those memories he created for me.

If only I could recreate those memories.

The memories of an ambitious twenty-one year old, filled with enthusiasm, eagerness, and desire. The memories of a female who thought she knew what she needed and what the world was like. The memories of a person who finally learned to have fun, without worrying about the social pressure.

The memories that he created.

“If only,” I would whisper.

And that’s when I smile to myself and shut the photo album, because while memories can be looked back on, they can’t be recreated. That’s why they’re called “memories”. They belong to the past, and what's past is past. 

“But, this is all just a memory…” he said.

this is just an intro to the story. It reflects two memories Hana has, the ones she has when she leaves London, and the ones she has thirty years after London. I know it was a little ambigous, but this was the drabble that had me writting Chapter 1. 

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