When I was six, living on Englewood Street in northeast Philly, life was so simple. We played step ball and ate lemonheads, and that was pretty much it. Then one day, Gwendolyn visited her grandparents on our block, and I knew that I had met the girl of my dreams. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t sure what dreams were. Or girls really for that matter. I just knew. With the certainty that only a six year old can generate.
To this day, I’m still not sure what love is, but thanks to the beautiful serendipity of timing, I’m betting it sounds something like this.