Yesterday at Luna Music:

I close my eyes, open my arms wide, and smile, breathing in the old-building smells, the platistic-y must of album covers and CDs, and — best of all — the sounds of young men, music enthusiasts, chatting excitedly near the register.

I open my eyes to find my sister, head cocked quizzically, smiling at me.

“What?” she asks.

“I spent a good part of my late 20s and early 30s in places like these,” I tell her quietly, lowering my arms. My smile remains but changes shape a little.

I watch her connect the dots.

“Sometimes I forget to heal things,” I tell her.

And she puts her arms around me and pulls me close, helping me to begin yet again.