Writings on Old Paper

I found this note crumbled in a crevice in an old backpack I used to use to go backpacking. I often write on odd things like wood, old book pages and most of all, napkins and paper towels. I found this from the beginning of summer 2009. 

As I sat in the Skandinavian Bar, the place I dreamed of for so many months, a song echoed off the walls, “Mr. Brightside,” by The Killers. I began to have flashbacks of the ghosts of people I have met along my journey this past year.

From a little island in Greece, to Italy, London and onward to Boston, Mass, where I can still remember that snowy night at a crappy bar called Crossroads.
 
Me, in my fake Uggs I bought in Ireland for 5 pounds, my American roomate from Mykonos, Alison, her [now ex] Australian boyfriend Jacko, her sister Brittany and my other English room mate from Greece, Holly. Just a bunch of kids looking for their acceptance, their place in this world. We all came from different patches of the Earth, and found each other on a rock in the middle of the Aegean Sea.

…and there we were, friends about to part our separate ways, singing “Mr. Brightside,” almost in tears and in wonder how we got to where we were and how we would never forget how we met.

Would we ever see each other again? Maybe. Would things change in our lives? Definitely. But no matter what happens, we always have our memories. And that is something that can never fade.