It’s A Part of You

“It’s a part of you,” said Ali DeNardo.

Honestly, I’m not sure what the context of these words were. I was not a part of the conversation when I happened to overhear her say these things.

It doesn’t matter, either. Really. Because every moment is a part of you. That’s something I have come to realize. To understand. To loathe.

The good? The bad? Does it matter? It shapes you in one way or another.

This moment. It’ll shape me. It’ll shape you.

That’s what I thought to myself as I stared around the bar. Looking upon faces I knew and did not know. Seeing all of them joined in a simple unity that was the place and moment in time we all found ourselves in.

“It’s a part of you.” Ali’s words still ring as clear in my mind as the stillness of fresh snow upon the ground, coating the world in a melancholic blanket of nostalgia.

It’s a strange feeling, I suppose, saying goodbye to a place. People are always a phone call or a message away. It’s hard to say goodbye to people. No. It’s impossible.

But places? How do you say goodbye to a building? To an idea? To a moment?

You blink and it’s gone. Not just gone. It’s forgotten.

That’s why I write about this moment. I don’t remember the time. It doesn’t matter, anyways. I didn’t even look at my watch to record the exact moment this memory takes place. I hope it becomes burned into my memory. It was a turning point, as silly as it may seem.

I took no pictures. Instead hoping that the blurred vision of my alcohol influenced mind would somehow become a turning point in my life.

Coworkers.

Friends.

Brief, fleeting, stupid love.

Did it matter?

Of course it did.

It was a part of me.