Memories, even hard memories, grew soft like peaches as they grow older.
How we see the world changes all the time. It all depends on our mood.
The words were strung in the air like garland. She could almost see them.
She accepted it from then on. Books liked her. Books wanted to look after her.
Crystalline swirls of sugar and flour still lingered in the air like kite tails.
Don't you wish you could take a single childhood memory and blow it up into a bubble and live inside it forever?