The Red Mist of Nostalgia

This is a recount of a dream I once had. — I stood rooted to the cold concrete, entranced by what I saw. Before me were glowing red mists, swirling in a curious fashion. It gained momentum and slowly manifested into people I knew. At this point more than twenty of them faced me. Though, they still had the reddish quality of the mist, each were frozen into the mannerisms they were well-known for. He had his trademark smirk, she had her cheeky grin; another had his hand on his nose, as if he had been rubbing it previously; yet another had her left eyebrow raised in exasperation. I gazed on, appreciating the quirks of my friends. I thought about how they left a huge impact, even though some didn’t talk much to me. This is the funny quality of youth. Drama...