My hand clasped the metal fence to my right as I jumped up and down, my black loafers sliding off of my stocking feet with each hop. Yellowcard's music blasted in my ears, live, for the first time in my life, and with it stormed the memories of a life lived long ago. One where ignorance sheltered my innocent hazel eyes and the biggest tormenting force in my life was learning to color between those daunting black lines. Long nights on the back porch, a chewed no. 2 pencil resting in my unpracticed fingers, were scored to the soundtrack of their songs. Their music reminds me of fireflies and poker, of the smell of fresh paper and the wild life I've always dreamed for myself, seen through the white bordered edges of a Polaroid photograph. The venue was quaint, "underground", and possessed a character that was entirely fitting for the band I grew up with. The walls seemed to close in on the sweating, shouting, dancing crowd, but even amongst all the people it really felt like just me and them. A personal conversation between myself and the band about my life thus far and what was yet to come. A brush against my hand or a nudge at my waist would remind me of my brother standing beside me. Our first concert together. Just like Yellowcard was our first band that we really loved and adored, together. He is preparing to enter the work force and I am rapidly making college preparations, but for one evening we had the hours to ourselves and our childhood and all the happy times it had possessed. Nostalgic tears stung violently at my eyes as the lyrics of their songs flooded my ears.

"I hope we don't forget."

I hope I don't ever forget last night. I struggled so much to recollect a moment where I was entirely satisfied. Little did I know that raising my hands and eyes towards the sky to the strum of the guitar would provide such a moment.