But beyond all else the rosy, moony, tender glow which lit up the blossoms among the frail forest of stems from which they hung like little golden roses – marking, as the radiance upon an old wall still marks the place of a vanished fresco.
I just looked in the mirror and almost didn’t recognize myself. There’s life in my eyes and they’re sparkling. My cheeks are rosy, my face is glowing. I realize that this sounds like a really old recovery cliche, but I look and feel alive again.