This is the ice cream cone you held as a kid, the one you bought at a small open shop and sat on the curb eating with your parents on the first day of summer. Look at your hand - this is the way you held your parents’ hand when you were a baby - clenching tight, not for melting cream but for something greater, something biological and innate. They traded their hands for ice cream cones, this clean, off-white but seamlessly pure childhood, melting away as the sun faded due west. Hold on tight, for life is fleeting and nothing will be so plain and simple ever again.