Despite living in San Antonio my entire life, I had never seen inside the Alamo; The same way you said you used to drive around my neighborhood on your way home from work every Sunday, but never inside.
If you or I had turned in, though, I'm sure we wouldn't have liked the view very much. Crooked, outdated, houses lay out along uneven roads, paved decades ago; The ghosts of those who had died fighting a battle that seems so irrelevant and far away, trapped inside heavy stone walls. What was the point?
They're just buildings. Another sight, seen.
How small the must the world be for us to pass each other in our day-to-day life, ignorant to what the future holds?
How many times had I seen you out and about, without ever longing for a deeper connection?
If it wasn't for meeting you, I still wouldn't have went inside the Alamo. You would've kept driving around my neighborhood every Sunday night.
We both would've been unaware of the ghosts that reside behind these heavy walls.
Maybe I would've found a reason to go, and maybe you would've too. Curiosity? Boredom? Perhaps we would've ran into each other. (I like that thought).
Maybe, at that time, instead of embracing these ghosts, they would've scared us away for good.
Either way, I would've never gotten to know you, and that's more terrifying than any ghost we could find in each other.
