"Is there a particular memory that comes to mind most often when you think of your youth?"
“We used to spend our summers in the south of France. I remember playing in the spice garden in the backyard of our house.”
“What specifically do you remember doing in the garden?”
“I’d be half in my imagination, and half in reality. The way children are…”
“Can you give an example of that?”
“I don’t know… say that I was playing in a patch of lavender. And I’m smelling the lavender, and holding the lavender. In my imagination, I’d also be in the future, giving the lavender to my family and friends.”
…I have technically completed all the requirements for my Theatre degree. And after my Ornithology exam tomorrow I will have completed all the requirements for one of my minors.
I’m getting old, man.
Where exactly do you put your hands on somebody who hurts everywhere?
Charles D’Ambrosio, The Dead Fish Museum: Stories (via theunquotables)