We came back.

Almost everyday, we came back.

We packed our lunches and had little picnics. The food tasted different when we ate it there. It tasted fresher.

The clearing in the center just seemed like the perfect place for a fort. So everyday we would gather wood.

Mazen carrying large logs, and me picking up small sticks.

Together we made ourselves our own little fantasy getaway.

I can still remember the way the wood felt on my hands. Rough, like sandpaper, but in a good way. If that makes any sense. Every time that I would add my sticks to the pile, I felt like I was accomplishing something enormous.

We never did finish the fort. Mazen did have to leave eventually.

But I will never forget that summer. And I will never forget our place. Sometimes I still go back there, I smell the fresh nature scent, I hear the cracking’s of the wood, I see the colors change through each season, I feel the wood against my hands, and I still listen for Hopper.