At 45 years old, I miss my youth. I miss being agile and young, and having the ability to be active and fit and young and attractive. I miss flirting with boys, and having abs, and doing crazy things like skinny dipping. I miss the excitement of getting ready with your girls to go out to the club or bar. I miss that beginning of the relationship feeling, where the butterflies don’t stop. I miss my style, the high-waisted cut off shorts, with graphic tees and beanies. I miss my youth.
Th evoice here is both convincing and compelling. We can sympathize with this nostalgic moment. Might be interesting to also have regrets–hard memories of things not missed–maybe alternating?