Isn’t it funny how memories can all run together. They chase each other down alleys and cobblestone streets so that they become intertwined whether they were ever related at all. And nothing necessarily unites them except a feeling. Riding a train at sunset drinking a spritz and laughing after dancing on the binaro. Passing those trees that are so quintessentially Roman or maybe simply Italian. Trunks tall and reaching up to the sky for years until the canopy suddenly catches up to them and spreads out broadly. The orange sunset just behind. And in a flash, you are walking down a street in a different city at the same time of day, years ago. Laughing with a group of girls about a song about a banana. And why do these things become intertwined? Years apart. Seemingly dissimilar. But maybe they’re the same memory. Time caught and suspended in the air at sunset. Light through honey in a jar. Happiness floating in the fading light. So that they are years apart and identical.
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