Age had drained the color from her eyes the way darkness drains the color from everything

…but with each step I took I could feel it; like an itch under the skin, I was only ever aware of it enough to know that it could never be satisfied.

Like a drop of ink in water, the urge rushed to the surface and then slowly spread out and thinned until I was made slightly darker by it.

That’s the trouble with memories: everything seems much more fantastical with a childhood lens to filter out the limitations of reality.

There are two times in a person’s life when there is the possibility of pure happiness: in youth and in summer.