You remind me of the past every time you visit. My entire life has taken root on these Colorado rocks, and this state likes to frost over occasionally, leaving so many of my memories buried in snow. You are like the smell of sesame body oil that blossoms into my mother’s face and hands. You’re like the notably cheap taste of off-brand macaroni and cheese that brings back the summer of 2011 with those beautiful girls in that perfect house. You are woven into these specific memories so closely that I expect with every snowfall to return there, to those places in my past.
There’s the time we had a snowball fight at my old elementary school in 2005 or so. One person stands out among the rest, someone who would come to be such a pivotal point in my life years later. The flurry of innocence surrounding that moment is always so strikingly different from what would come.
Or the time I talked those three girls into wandering around campus the winter of 2009. I had barely met two of them, but I now count them as my closest friends, and don’t know how my world would work without them.
We can’t forget the time I crashed my car into the median that snowstorm in 2010. The moment the man sitting in the passenger seat shouted my name and the drive shaft cracked in half still flashes across my windshield whenever my tires slip. Who knew I would still be driving that car? Who knew that we wouldn’t make it as a couple? Or how glad I’d be that we didn’t make it?
I’ll add this morning’s thirty minute trek to work to this icy box in my mind. I’ll remember the skyscrapers rising out of the clouds, the acceptance that I was really in this city, really living here and growing here despite my fears of it. The lonely, silent air that made the flakes stick to my eyebrows and cheeks was the only witness to the creation of that moment. It was just you and me, forming another hour of my life that might mean so much in five years.
I don’t think I’ll ever move away from you.
With fond recollection,