There's a phenomenon that comes naturally with the passage of time. We forget.

We forget people. We forget places. We forget names and dates and moments and sounds.

But there's a funny thing about living in the place where you grew up — memories tend to return when you least expect them.

Driving to the gym, you pass a house and have a sudden recollection of being positioned face-first into a barrel of water, your first time ever bobbing for apples at a friend's October birthday party. 

Walking through town you're struck just as suddenly by a memory of a slightly shorter version of yourself traversing the same path, only it was darker out, and clenched in your fist were quarters ready to be slipped through the coin slot of a payphone. Ka-thunk. Ka-thunk.

Living in your hometown — or just a few miles up the road, anyway — is akin to living in a museum made up of your own most important moments.

Over there? There's the pool where you learned to swim (or tried to, at least).There's the garden center that once had an ice cream freezer where you'd fish around for orange creamsicle pops on hot summer days. And there's the storefront that once opened into the sewing store where the owner would sometimes allow you to choose a new plastic charm for your necklace.

There's the former department store where you stood on your tippy toes to drink from the water fountain and could have ridden the escalator for hours if only you'd been allowed.

Over there? That's where you met the love of your life. And there's the retaining wall where you once sat for hours with an old friend talking and laughing. The friend is gone, but the memories remain.

Time passes. Years go by. Memories fade.

But in your hometown they're waiting for you to find them again.