Envision this. You are older now, face wilted but still beautiful as it was fifty years ago. Your walking stick has become your lifetime apprentice and recollections flutter around in your head like the butterflies that once resided in your stomach. Most days you cannot remember what you like in your coffee or what you'll have for dinner. Some day's it is harder to breathe than most and on occasion you have to sit because standing becomes too much of a chore. You realize how true it is that you never do forget the people you loved when you were younger. You may not remember breakfast or yesterday's weather but you remember the fifty year old summer breeze and complaining about her hair in your face. "I wonder if she's happy," you say, and people mistake it for mindless rambling. "I hope she found what she was looking for."