Missing someone is the reverberating echo of everything beautiful about her—her laugh, her song, her touch, her smell, the power of her words, and the constant shadow that lingers on as her perfect image in...

Places are supposed to look smaller when you go back to them, but my road just looked schizoid. A couple of the houses had had nifty little makeovers involving double glazing and amusing faux-antique pastel...

And sometimes I try to stop speculating the future out of existence, and other times I just lean back and run with it because maybe it’s for the best.

..so Grandpa turned the rusty latchkey of his magnificent remembery and set free a symphony of stories

As I grabbed my cocoa, chocolate ran down my hand.”This makes me feel like a five-year-old,” I said, licking it off.”If I ordered a sandwich at this place, do you think they’d cut the crusts...

You know, that was what we missed most. Not our beds, not our homes, not even our mothers. We would talk about food.

Suddenly it seemed to me that I looked back from a great distance on that smile and saw it all again – the smile and the day, the whole sunny, sad, funny, wonderful day and...

Today, it felt like time should be measured by how much of the future she had left, and needed to be counted forward. She felt proud listening, as if somehow Jonathan Parish’s speech reflected on...

What can ever equal the memory of being young together?

How often had she wondered what would have happened if she’d remained with Jonathan? Not often, but regularly over the years. It was impossible not to have imagined that rejected future, a life of many...