That one day.

We sat on the warm, crisp grass, planting ourselves right in the middle of the big park we had been driving all day to find. It was the most perfect park in the world, and it was lucky that we were stopping by. Guitars in hand, sunglasses on, hardly any clothes, we were a sight to be seen. The day was bright, the sun was hot, the surroundings unfamiliar. We swore that day that we were moving here, no matter what we had to do, we were moving here.

A feeling of contentment permeated our grins for those few hours. We knew no one. No one could touch us. We owned the town. This park was our park and we were singing in it. A perfect buzz had floated to our brains, the kind of day-drinking that makes you wonder why you never day-drink. Beneath the exterior of our over-dramatic antics our hearts were sad, and we were lonely. But not today. Not on this day. On this day no one could tell us a thing.

Days like this, they came sparingly. Between the endless Seattle nights, over-indulging on whiskey and cigarettes and falling on sidewalks getting skinned knees, and creating fake interests in men who bored us, days like this were treasured. The heartache of past loves and the feeling of monotony and boredom and pain all fell to the wayside on this day, and all we had was sun. And a best friend. And a good buzz. And a feeling that everything was right in the world, a feeling of unimaginable hope, if only for a few hours. You never realize it at the time, that you will remember this day forever.