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.