I lingered on the Columbia campus for a while, scribbling in my notebook on the steps of Low Library before going over to Hungry Mac’s to have dinner.
I didn’t lie, I say. My memories were eaten by the sea.
Try and save your journals. Perhaps after sitting in the warm November sun, they’ll dry out. Maybe you can still salvage those precious moments about your volunteer experience in Ghana, or that Moleskine pad of cheeky things you witnessed in Ireland.
Everything was different. Your carefully manicured life is interrupted by a storm.
Have you ever seen an alligator crawl out of a canal by your friend’s house and almost eat someone? Legit every day of my childhood.