She doesn’t miss what they were, but the feeling... the feeling of happy
The mind plays mischievous tricks on the heart and the heart in turn on the eyes... things don’t feel or look the same when you’re looking through star shaped glasses of the unenlightened
What it was that made it all that way or whether it can or will be again is immaterial because every moment is cherished and honoured in the shrine she decorates just for herself, kept preciously tucked under the displaced layers of her thoughts... at the very end of the infinite halls of her mind
Big evil things fell to pieces and small lovely and insignificant to the naked eye things seemed the most important... sending all else into oblivion
Hard times where gone with the wind and the good sown in the ground for more to grow
Those times were good to her.
To hope that the feeling... the feeling returns may seem foolish, but a fool is all she is.
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