Even the memory of cradling her in my arms is pure euphoria. And all that I ask out of life is that it be constant and unending euphoria.
I assumed that looking back reminded older guys of what they had shot at and missed, the what-ifs, the good memories, the bad, the people left behind, the people who moved on.
Bad memories were hard enough, but it was torture to be haunted by the good.
Sometimes the good memories are just as painful as the bad ones.
