As a young explorer in a vast university, filled with opportunities, there would be one that seemed to fit my path and would define it for years to come. A single home would serve as the nucleus for the stories that started to shape my adulthood. My planet, an orbit of blossoming friendships, music, and questionable habits. An experiment without boundaries or parameters.
The seasons were filled and empty, mostly filled. Conversations, classes, absences, mini-startups, and self-discoveries based the canvas. Colors filled the scene but gradually revealed chaos with a lack of intention. I felt a pull towards something new as I awoke in the disorienting environment I helped create. I moved across the street, an easier way to say goodbye, gradually, with frequent visits.
I watch from a future distance, held by new buds, fruiting life I couldn't have imagined in those moments. Not because of the grandness, but because of the magic stuff that links one moment to the next. It's too elusive to anticipate and much more forgiving than we give it credit for.
This is a story about finding home in a friend and the journey back from heartache. It's about falling in love and being reminded that it can happen again.