Hey boy,

I'm glad I had you on that ride home. The hours didn't seem long and arduous when I had your shoulder in my exhaustion, and your steadying hands when I walked drearily at the pitstops. You were good. Even with the drunk man from the tour bus of drunks who befriended us in a heartbeat. Helping me buy my candies from 7/11 without which I would have never survived the way back. In the dark of the night with the cold so biting, we found our path home, our footsteps making their marks side by side.

It's not documented since I didn't have the pretty colours capture these minutes. It didn't even cross my mind that we were a marching sign of solidarity. It was just a regular yawn. But now it's coming back to me, like a battle cry. Memories without pictures and words, prove the most vivd of all.

They are called flashbulb memories.