It’s no good remembering what it was like to be seventeen, only six years ago, with graduation from school a year ahead of her, and a crowd of friends round the table at the Europe, packed together, laughing and talking so loudly that you could hardly hear what anyone said. The words didn’t matter. The noise of happiness was what mattered, and the warmth of someone else’s arm pressed against yours. There was a smell of sunburnt skin, coffee, cigarettes and marigolds.
“
| — | Helen Dunmore, The Siege (via narcotic) |
