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Sometimes I need a refuge. A refuge far away in space and time, remembering those who are no longer here.

A passport photo slips from an old book on a rainy Christmas afternoon. The memory of a week stranded abroad with nothing but a two-pound paperback for company.

On a gray winter morning, memory drifts back to an old classroom, a stern teacher, and the thin line between mist and humidity.

Turning 46 triggers a question: would I go back to being twenty?

The waiting room was full, but a forgotten sign made me feel suddenly alone. Revisiting a moment when life happened all at once, leaving marks that took time to heal.