"It is not a question of time or distance or money or the coming apart bicycle of an old man's health... The truth is, like all places in the past, it cannot be found any longer. There is no way to get there, except this way." - This is Happiness by Niall Williams
The place that lives in my memory is only arrivable by train, only during daylight hours. It is always perfect long sleeve weather, no light jacket needed. It always smells like light traffic, a hint of motor oil blended with concrete roads. It is grey, but not in a stark kind of way. It is warm with welcoming arms and smiling faces. Just now, I remembered twinkling eyes, soft hugs, my head always coming up to mid-torso, never higher. It is home.
