[she felt] sorry for herself, for getting older, for being mortal, for all the music she still wanted to hear, the books she intended to read, the places she had meant to visit, the things she had promised herself she'd learn one day [...] and probab...
Perhaps she just needed to remind herself more often how that gold was still floating above her head, it's minuscule particles visible only when pierced by a certain light.
These were the moments that would stick in her memory for years to come, those instants of perfect bliss that nothing else would ever match again.
