It’s my eleventh time here in four years, almost three times per. At this rate — con­sid­er­ing how sel­dom I get out nowa­days — it’s one of the only places I fre­quent. Each vis­it serves as a small time­stamp, from the year we went home with dif­fer­ent peo­ple to the year we went home togeth­er, and all the times caught in between among heavy snow and mechan­i­cal hors­es.

 

Strange how often I come here when it’s so rarely by choice. I always think I’ll be up next time, that I won’t be sit­ting by myself in one of these great halls, cause for­tune even­tu­al­ly smiles on every per­son who takes a chance on love.