There are somethings that even if they happened a long time ago, feels just like yesterday. The memories that I have aren't recent, but they exist fresh; some more than the other whereas some are simply forgotten for my own sake. This was opposite for her, she always believed in the power of "remembering things"; from the day we first met, to the streets we walked on and she never failed to impress me with it. So, just like the other traits of her, I adapted it as well and I kept track of the dates and days when specific things "worth remembering" happened, and hence my habit of keeping journals formed. I remember how it was her routine to talk to me at least once a day: she used to say that discussing daily chores brings clarity to the mind. To be honest, often there was no reason and no topic to talk about, she just liked to talk; well, that's what she told me, as "me" being "me" always loved to keep shut: hence, bound to listen to her. I did love talking as well but I never found a topic to talk about and I still don't find any, even though she isn't around, anymore. Rarely when I had one, I never dud shut up as well. Now that I recall certain days with my friend, it's weird how little we were. We are just teenagers but her actions were of a child, she acted like a child at heart but the flow of her words were no lesser than an old soul. She looked the part as well: often dressed on her signature style and her eyes portraying a sweetness within; you certainly know it quite well now: that everlasting smile of her face, I often wonder if she had it on her last day as well.
I always loved walking long distances, don't get me wrong: I wasn't fit at all, I was overweight and hated to run but loved walking and I still do. I have this weird habit of parking my ride far and just walk for long distances before getting back to the ride and heading off. She loved walking long distances, I didn't have a ride back then so walking the roads were just a fun game to us. Unlike me, she was in a better shape, I always slowed her down, so she would just drag me to places holding my hand and I would soon be out of breath. She made me walk a lot, and I found a weird freedom in it because my family always sent a car for my transportation but with her I just got to walk a lot and I fell in love with walking since then.
It was a fun game, where we would just observe people and try to find details about them; also called "Through Deduction". Yes, you got that right, we both were Sherlock Holmes fan; not the BBC Series (that wasn't even released I think) we both loved the classic books and hoped to develop that deduction habit; a childish hobby, you may call it. We tried, apparently we both failed in that because if we actually had it: things might have been different than what it is now, she failed to observe her path and I failed to observe her.
Even if it's been quite sometime now, I walk back to those roads just to see the paths we once took. Memories are no longer a weight to carry around but to treasure, I visit her at times to talk when I am lost and path no longer forms; even though not around anymore, she lights up a path. Sitting there, I imagine her: my mouth shut and bound to listen to her, extracting the dark, shows me the path.
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