The Past
Why is it that the things that we love most tend to make us cry and we look fondly back on those memories that hur. Looking through Gaby's journal I was thinking back on summer once more, I guess yearning for what is no more defines me, and reading the old post that she wrote when she was about to leave for Boston and I almost wept. The way in which she could so throroughly define all of us by just pointing out a single memory, it was so stron that I couldn't help but shake my head when I read about the ones I knew and feeling like i knew the ones that I did not. Why is it that people that we meet just passing by seem to affect us so? Why is it that the memory of 4 crazy nights reshapes the way you look at everything if even for just a moment?