The lemon was precious, as was every morsel of food that entered one’s house. I was raised to shudder at the mere thought of throwing away anything on my plate, encouraged to catch all the stray grains of kasha and watching my dad soak up every last bit of soup in his plate with the bread my mum baked like clockwork every few days.
“She wanted to relive the memories, the ephemeral emotions of happiness she felt when she was younger – unmolded. She did not account for the fact that she was a different person hoping to feel the sentiments of years ago.”
“Fairy-tales like this weren’t supposed to be true. He felt that if he didn’t say anything, then none of it was real. And if it wasn’t real, it couldn’t possibly be taken away from him.”
“It was her turn to paint the world in a different light, through words carefully arranged on a page. To assume the role of the enchanter and cast her clever spells. To dream with her eyes wide open.”
