As I sit here underneath this old bridge, the creek long dried up, I think about how it all started. I think about how time just keeps going, not giving us a single moment to sit and breathe. I wish I could relive the past and hold on to every single second. But time goes on and all I have to cherish is memories. Things have changed so much. The graffiti on the brick is still the same, I guess some things never change. At least for now. I wonder if the spray paint remembers that day. Staring at us through it's particles like thousands of little eyes. I wonder if it remembers me, or has the wheel of time marred my face past the point of recognition? I sit here, my cigarette almost dead, thinking about the beginning.
