Born and raised but it never fit quite like a home should. Still the salty air felt nice. Almost foreign by now. Back like no time had passed. The bright blue sky and the quiet streets and the sandy steps leading back to that familiar intersection. I had all of it memorized. Except they planted new trees where the old ones used to be. A few other things too. Some pink flowers and some foliage–anything strong enough to handle the drought. The little girl I used to babysit is a freshman in college. Maybe a sophomore. She threw a party last night. It was loud enough that we could hear it from the walk around the cul de sac. Our dog looks forward to that walk after dinner. She’s getting older like the rest of us. I saw some grey hairs creeping in around her chin, trimming her dark brown eyes. They just repaved the asphalt. I could smell it. That strong scent used to linger in the air for days, especially in the summer time. It reminded me of soccer practice and taking my shin guards off in the car ride home and burning my bare feet on black surface of the street lining our driveway. I found the sweater I wore on our first date. I forgot to bring it with me when I moved. I think it’s been sitting, folded in my drawer since the last time I saw you. Black and off the shoulder. I was so nervous, I kept playing with the edges of its sleeves. It doesn’t look quite how I remember it.
