The last time I saw my first love was on my 17th birthday—thirty years later, a woman who looked exactly like her stepped into my yard

perception.

She looked exactly like Lily.

The same dark eyes. The same slight tilt of the head when uncertain. The same way of standing with her weight shifted forward, ready to move but not yet moving.

She was clearly too young — twenty, maybe twenty-five at most — which made no sense and somehow made the whole moment worse.

“Who are you?”

“My name is continue reading …