A whiff of that particular scent you wore that night, and the many nights before, every time we met; just sent me back from this huge airport filled with strangers, to these candid memories of us. A collection of bittersweet moments of the adventure in the library, the war in the car, the breakfast after the fights.
They belong to us. The memories.
“Mom,” a little girl beside me was tugging my skirt. I lifted her up, slowly emerging out from the temporal lobe in my brain, back to the reality I belong.
And that’s all we are. A memory.