He stood in front of the gate, looking down at the slip of paper etched with the number that was on the mailbox right next to him. The number on the paper, 808, had been traced over and over again in pencil, giving the back a raised texture that he was absent-mindedly running his fingers over. A white privacy fence circled the property, but he knew it was not meant to block the eyes of those passing by, it was a part of the decor of the property. The fence was decorated with flowers growing in beds along the base, and climbing ivy covered most of the surface. He knew from the address that this was the right place, knew even better from the living fence, but he still hesitated. It had been years, years that felt like decades, since he had seen her. He was unsure, about himself, the idea of seeing her again, the future, and pretty much everything in between. It wasn’t that seeing her again meant anything more than two people catching up, it was just the opportunity to do so after so long was overwhelming. continue reading…