The Sentimental Post

Everyone told me I would miss that town, eventually. I told everyone that I wouldn't, ever. And I don't. But that doesn't mean there aren't a few things I won't look back on, fondly, and remember.

Like the heaviness of the air on a hot summer night, when you're walking from the car to the Dairy Point, holding the hand of your little sister. It's light, breakable, and the bones are as thin as a baby bird's. She examines the red and white marbled stones along the walk, and you notice the yellow light against the grass and think, This, this I will miss.

You'll miss sitting in his car where the driveway meets the road, when the early morning air is foggy and the sun is just about to rise. It's chilly outside but you're warm in his lap, in your pajamas and his arms. A settled, heavy sleepiness overtakes you as you take off your glasses and snuggle into him, breathing the scent of him. Drift away...

You miss...not the freezing thinness of gray, 7AM air underneath "the breezeway," but the way one look from That Boy takes it all away, makes you forget how cold and grumpy you were. Chocolate-drop eyes, uncut hair, and a sea of freckles you could drown in.

The mid-night movie-thons, heartfelt conversations that could last for hours. Waking brothers up at 2AM to put makeup on them. Children's birthday parties, in town and outside, on summer afternoons. "SEX IS BAD FOR YOU"? High school inside jokes, "lunch," that could relieve all sorts of gloom.

There were good things. There were things that will never be the same again.