There are stories that come into our lives and find their way into our souls. They are the tales we revisit time and time again. They are the stories we think about randomly, on idle afternoons, that bring a smile to our face and remind us of a time when things were simpler, life was slower, and possibility reigned free. Perhaps they remind of us being younger, or perhaps they quell our fears of growing old. Whatever purpose they serve, they come to us when we most need them and embrace us warmly like an old friend.

Like great stories, there are people who enter your life and become a part of who you are. They are the friends that share your secrets and always laugh at your jokes. They make you better because of who they are and what they mean to you. Their passion is contagious and ignites something new and wondrous in you. They make you better, and they leave a void when they go. And unlike a great book, you can’t put them on a shelf for safe keeping or store them away because someday, selfishly, you might need them. So, you try to slow time, you refuse to read the last few pages in a futile attempt to keep the story going, just a little longer. In each cherished memory you find hope and understanding. You know the story isn’t over and what is still to come holds all the possibility of the day you first met them. And you know, that one day, when the time is right, they will be there. You will pull them off the shelf, dust the cobwebs off the jacket that time dare not erase, and they will be there.