She was already sitting on the ledge when I pulled up. Knees to her chest, looking down at the river.
What makes us? And where do the small places take us?
There are a thousand of these memories.. fragile and permanently twined around my recollection; chisel marks curving and shaping my character.. just a millimeter here, and another there. I think, maybe its not the obvious pieces that etch out our muchness.. but rather the ones we were never really expecting. The songs in the galleys of sailboats, sneaking into hostels in San Francisco, the conversations about love in campers, watching prayer flags flutter while sitting on a balcony... or, eating peaches and drinking wine at sunset.
We're making it... we're making us.. though ever so slightly.. with the least of our moments.