As she sat, the wind pushed strands of Rachel’s hair in her face. I watched her brush them back behind her ear. She turned her attention to the grass and ran her fingers through the blades.

I gazed out across the city. The complete lack of organization, the chaos and anarchy in the layout astounded me. How did they build it? How did this beautiful city grow?

“What are you looking at?” She asked me.
“Nothing really,” I replied. “It’s just nice to be here.”
“Yeah it is.”

We stared out at the city for a few more minutes. Out of the corner of my eye I could see that she was looking at me. I adjusted how I was sitting and she immediately turned back to the grass. I took a second to try to memorize this moment, to lock it away for safekeeping. I had a friend once who used to tell me that I needed to live in the moment, every moment, because this moment was my life, and this moment would never come again. I admit that I didn’t really believe that when he told it to me, but right there, on that little patch of lawn, I suddenly felt the moment passing through me, each second giving way to the next. Even though the cathedral and the squares of grass all around it were packed with people just like us, tourists and families laying on the green and enjoying the view, I couldn’t hear or see any of them. All I could hear was the wind rustling through the trees, a few faint birds, and the sound of Rachel singing “Dear Prudence” to herself in a wistful and lilting mezzo-soprano. And all I could see was us.

My friend was right. This moment was my life. I couldn’t control the smile that crept up onto my face. For the first time in a long time, I was here.