It’s strange to walk the streets of a place/city you’ve once lived in, grown in, cried in, and thrived in. It’s strange because you remember exactly what it felt like, what the routine of sounds and sights consisted of, and how familiar it all became during your time there. You remember the exact shade of yellow all the license plates were, and you remember the old smell of the library and the chiming tone of the elevator in your best friend’s halls when the doors opened. You remember how wobbly the buses were and exactly what the raindrops felt like while you waited for that bus to arrive. Continue reading
