I remember skimming across a sentence someone once wrote: “I felt like I was 22 again.” And then my heart skipped a beat, after all those offhand comments and wistful thoughts of how old we thought we were, and only now realizing that we weren’t old at all. Clutching life with our hands and not knowing how hard it was clutching us back… days easily wasted with clichéd quotations about living to forget. It’s easier to cling to those words without thinking of your own. They were the lines that framed the borders of our lives, and we believed them like sunday school hymns, held them up to the sky and let the sun rays filter through them like a scene from a Sofia Coppola movie. Dreamy, manufactured, gorgeous idealism.