It's hard telling what triggers memories sometimes.  A smell, a taste, a song, an image, a few words, a gesture... There are those memories that make you want to tell a story.  And then there are those memories that are so strong they pull you into the past and it's all you can do to hold on to the roller coaster ride.

From stoop to stoop, I remember every step of the trip.  The various smiles, laughs, and accents.  The parade of green suits.  The six short hours.  The fresh stamp on the smooth paper.  That smile...

I can still feel the wood floor flex under my bare feet.  I can still smell the cool morning air pouring through the bedroom window.  I can see my suitcase by the door with my shoes on the floor with me wondering if there's going to be a morning after, because I couldn't tell if I was living or dreaming those days.  The hair on my arms stands up like it did right before I ended up with a phone that wouldn't ring anymore.

And then, *poof*, just like that, I'm back at the airport wondering should I stay or should I go.

Part of me stayed.

Part of me always stays...