You were jumping on the bed like an 8 year old. The cool, soft air magicked, danced, weaved itself through the open window. A quiet, uneventful day. It felt like the prime time of my life. And you suddenly asked what’s that weird smell. It was like the wet smell of a childhood pet. Or mementos locked away in a basement. Old dusty clothes and photos. But it was just night rain, a flirtation with memory.