glumshoe:

[Ray Bradbury voice] He was a boy, a perfect boy. A boy in the full swing of boyhood. Ten golden summers swelled in his chest like the stolen berries that he plucked from neighbor’s gardens with his friends. It was 1947 and holy fuck he was so fucking good at being a carefree white American boy in an idealized ode to my own romanticized childhood. I wish I were ten. I am old now and Death comes for me like the wind.