I spent most of today talking with an old friend, walking and standing in line in a bookstore - oh bliss! to be in a bookstore with someone who loves reading just as much as you do - and oh, it was good. The talking was especially good. I have a lot of pent up words. And yet, I love to sit and listen. When someone tells you their story, it's such a gift.
We talked about how college is legitimately a long time ago, and how trippy that is. And how funny it is that all the things just come rushing back, when you're with someone who was there at the same time. All the boys we thought were cute, all the sweet and painful corners of memory. Being with someone who was there makes it all real, again.
And I am reminded how the only story, when it comes down to it, is a love story. We're all just telling our love stories, in one way or another.