It was nothing more then a glimpse, a childhood memory. Fluttering moments of fleeting images stretched tightly across the empty pages of his mind, warming the senses like comforting rays of mid-summer sun. A memory of happier times, of love and laughter, when the world was less black and white, but a riot of beautiful cascading colours cocooned deeply within the endless bounds of safety.
At first it had been so clear and vibrant, as if peering through polished glass. Now it was worn and faded like an old, well loved photograph. Dog-eared, torn and tattered in places, but the time weary faces still remained.
How he longed to dip his hands into the shimmering opaline swirls, to be able to pull himself back. Back, as he was then, effervescent innocence barely contained. So full of wonder, of colour. Of life.
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