aminyard:

The way his hair looked in summer sun. His face when he run. His eyes, solemn as an owl at lessons. This and this and this. So many moments of happiness, crowding forward.

I conjure the boy I knew. Achilles, grinning as the figs blur in his hands. His green eyes laughing into mine. Catch, he says. Achilles, outlined against the sky, hanging from a branch over the river. The thick warmth of his sleepy breath against my ear. If you have to go, I will go with you. My fears forgotten in the golden harbor of his arms.
           
T h e   m e m o r i e s   c o m e,  a n d   c o m e.