The sun burnt on, drugging everything with warmth.
Everything else you grow out of, but you never recover from childhood.
Emotions weren't like washing. There was no call to peg them out for all the world to view.
no one had experiences any more, only traumas.
The older one becomes the quicker the present fades into sepia and the past looms up in glorious technicolour
I am of the firm belief that everybody could write books and I never understand why they don't. After all, everybody speaks. Once the grammar has been learnt it is simply talking on paper and in time learning what not to say.