The Distant Hours - Morton, Kate
At these times I'd find a quiet, dark corner-all the better to give myself over fully to the fantasy-and picture in great detail those bland future days when I would walk along our street, stop at our building, gaze up at the windowsill on which I used to grow my herbs, and see someone else's silhouette fall across the glass. Glimpse the shadowy barrier between the past and the present, and know keenly the physical ache of being unable ever to go back.
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