Memories are funny things,” Mrs. Darby pressed on. “They are fickle creatures, constantly changing. Every time we look back on a memory, it has changed, it is never the same as how it was when we made the memory. How could it be? Because every time we look back, we too have changed. We have collected new experiences, new opinions, new pains. You aren’t looking back on them with the same eyes.
As the days began to feel like they were all bleeding into one another, the lines separating them becoming but a blurred gradient resembling lines not at all, with the world continuing to spin regardless of mortal toil, the tectonic plates shifting beneath our feet, and people growing everywhere around, for him, at least one thing remained constant: the aromatic scent of coffee tinging the air, kissing his nostrils. Some say that no true satisfaction could be found in instant gratification. Danny begged to differ as he moved to pour his first cup. Coffee, our way of stealing time that should by rights belong to your older self.