“There’s always a bittersweet kind of thing, but I feel like everything had to work out the way it is. Everything that had to happen, happened.” ~Bruno Mars
I went to the town, almost forgotten but long remembered. The water was there, a chill biting through my windbreaker. Quaint, with stone and bricks rubbed smooth and worn. Chipped and dimpled dark wood warmed the surrounds.
The place. I hadn’t been there in 30 years and yet I felt drawn to it. Each song that played in the tavern – each one! – was from the era I remembered well. How could that be?
The evening walk was windy. As we meandered by, suddenly the water bore two sculls, moving rhythmically, the coxes’ voices shouting above the din. The shops were filled with items reminiscent of days and years past.
Everything acted like a dinner bell, that familiar reminder of home.
And so, I remembered. The people, college roommates and old boyfriends. Girls with boys’ names. Laughter. Long drives on spring break. Cherry blossoms and summer humidity.
Something that felt a lot like love.
In the moment of an early spring evening, so different and much the same, it felt like a welcome.
