Before the war, life was so easy. So good. And they never knew. They never knew how lucky they were, that they could walk, just to walk. To feel the air along the canals. To see their friends and stop to admire lacemakers and chocolatiers. Restaurants were packed, sauces rich and thick. Plates left behind, piled with food. So much food, scraped into bins. And they didn’t know. They didn’t know what a privilege it was, to throw things away and to linger on bridges. To not be asked to do impossible things, or to live in a world where turning on a friend makes any sort of sense, however briefly.
