Falling Like May

I've watched her fall so many times throughout her life; off her new bike when she
was seven, out of the oak tree in the back garden on her tenth birthday, in
love at seventeen and then, sadly, out of love at forty three. Despite May’s unbelievable
tendency to fall, it never occurred to me that I would have to watch her final
fall, her last ever plunge – her fall in to death.

This is another thing I have heard a thousand times, in a thousand different novel prologues
about a thousand different deaths, but never before has this phrase ringed
truer to me: it is an extraordinary thing, how fast time flies. Because one
moment May was fifteen, with eyes that shone as bright as the sun, and a heart
made of the purest gold, and the next she was seventy five, with the same eyes
and heart but perhaps just a little wiser. 

(Please read the prologue for a better description, as this is just a quick extract from that!)