Does it come with age?

She thinks this time last year I was in Changi, waiting for my connection flight to London.

She remembers how humidity makes her feel. Almost like it is always holidays, but something even better than that.

There have been choices to make. Choices of no degrees. Choices of either-or.

She pokes into the corners of her mind, the layers of her soul, the curves of her heart. She pokes. Then she prods.

But there are still no lurking regrets.

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