Yesterday, hand-in-hand with a young lady, I strolled around the West End of Glasgow, basking in the streaming rays of the sun as they caressed the 'dear green place' (as the City is called). We talked and laughed and ate, and enjoyed each other's company; visited museums and art galleries, cafes and restaurants, parks and recreational areas, and time seemed to stand still (or at least slow to a crawl) as we drank in the day and made memories that, to me at least, would last forever.
Then I awoke this morning and realised that 'yesterday' was 19 years ago, and wondered where the time sneaked off to when I wasn't looking. Does she remember yesterday with the same fond affection, or does the memory languish in a hidden drawer of a secret compartment for which she has lost the key?
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(In case you're wondering about the photo's relevance, the empty table is where we sat to have breakfast, in a cafe that became a vodka bar back in 2001.)