I went home last summer, for the first time in a long time. I was born in this small town, but I was raised by the city. I have always felt as though I was made for metropolitan. He was different; he was homegrown. It was one a.m. on August seventh, two thousand and sixteen when we locked eyes. He remembered me, I could see it in his eyes. The conversation never stopped, and we didn’t have to touch. Laying still amongst the tall grass, it sheltered the summer wind. I remember staring at the sky when I was younger and it has never been this clear. Tonight it was dark, only lit by fire and teen laughter in the deepest shade of blue. I lost count of the shooting stars, distracted by my nervous thoughts, I watched the stars sparkle. As I listened to the river’s current, we discussed the depths of the oceans and the height of our universe. It was disgustingly cliche like a teen movie; but it was perfect. That moment will forever be a movie in my mind. After that night, the conversation never stopped. He brought me back home. He reminded me of my native world. My mind was different after that summer; deeply curious, contagiously happy, and fearless. I thought I found the quiet in his world, but it was just him showing me my own. Since that summer my experience with him had me gain perspective and become more curious.