I spent last weekend with my sister + brother (in-law, but not a necessary descriptor) in Cambridge. There's something about Cambridge. I've felt it from the first time I set foot there with Kelli's cat in a box. True story.
But this time - this visit - was even more special. Maybe it was the rebirth of spring and its ever-fulfilling promise to renew. Maybe it was having been a long while since I spent good time with my favorite two. Maybe it was because we had weathered the winter, the last year and were finally facing the sun. It was most likely a combination of all, and each of us felt it.
There were picnics and playlists; long, honest conversations that only the closest of people can have and the silences made comfortable by the presence of loved ones. There was laughter too, and more rosé then we knew what to do with, but it was the conversations, the silences and the knowing that left its marks on me.
Perhaps that's why our Trifecta, never one for drawn-out goodbyes, said farewell-for-now listening to Blood Bank. Without knowing exactly what was in the others' minds, we were all struck by the same lyric. That's what happens when you know someone so well. And in return they know you as well as you know yourself - maybe better at times. I needed that reminder last weekend. And there, in the streaming Cambridge sun with my family - our heads down for the first time that weekend - I got it.
"And I know it well, I know it well."
Rose-colored glasses at Radcliffe.