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Sometimes

Sometimes, if you're lucky, there are some days that are golden.

The light cascading through the leaves is the very tears of Angel's joy; the smell of woodfire calls you to the forest and its deep history; that coffee you discover is sheer restoration, aglow with depths of warmth and flavour you never thought possible; the very air seems to have been cleansed and polished until every molecule glistens with it's own unique sparkle, awaiting contact so as to unleash it's refined energy into your soul; the texture of the fabric against your skin is electric and internally you are chiming like a bell in resonance with the authenticity of the nature all around you.

Days like this, I just want to freeze and put aside, as they are over all too quickly. I want to keep them locked away in a secret place and span them out, tasting them, one shiny little quark at a time so as not to waste them in the flash of the moment.

The bittersweet ache of memory.