Remember the little things.

The ones we all come to appreciate, perhaps a little too late.

That feeling of comfort our little eyes first understood to be home.

Those little conversations we still think about,

the ones that shaped us.

Those little stretches of time we thought

would last forever, but to our surprise,

had a final moment written into the story. Oh, those little things. I remember going to a concert in high school.

I was at the Orphium in Boston, Massachusetts. I went with two of my friends.

Had an amazing time in, well, years and years have obviously passed.

And recently I asked myself, what is it I remember about that day?

Why is it such a powerful moment for me?

And interestingly enough, I don't remember any of the songs that were sung

or how well they were played. I don't remember any of the songs that were sung, or how well they were played.

I don't remember what I bought or what I wore or what teenage troubles I was going through

at the time, no years later.

I remember how it felt to stand there in the center of that theater.

Color of the lights filling up the room, the bass drum resonating in my chest, aligning with my heartbeat, the people I was with.

And the funny thing is, 17-year-old me had no clue.

He was driving into the city for a night he'd remember

forever, but not because of the music. No, because of a feeling. Because he would spend the time

with the same people he would have hung out with anyway at home. And perhaps subconsciously I knew,

...