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

location.”

The hill overlooked the river.

It wasn’t far — maybe twenty minutes outside town — up a path through old pines that opened onto a clearing with a view stretching all the way to the bend in the water where everything had started and ended.

At the top was a small stone plaque set into the ground. No name. Just a date. The date of my birthday.continue reading …