I am a sinful being; a thought always at the waver within the clattering mind, and such a clatter it makes, that one doesn’t seem to recall having it in their youth. Come the older age however, ones thoughts become askewed of what the life once was, a life many would look back upon with such a distance that the life could hardly be recognized as their own. But the pondering upon this topic could easily drive one through the backstreets of a late night, or a seven day bus ride from California to New York. Through many faces that have crossed ones path, emotions of young love, drunk stumbles, and pseudo/intellectual conversations of creative titillation.

What a joke, what a joke; to have come so far, to have lived through such sufferings only to stew on such precious and wasteful moments.

Today as I sit in my flimsy, white faded, metal chair and stare into the humble garden of twenty years my thoughts are taken aback. They glide to and fro across the open air, passing easily through the webs of spring, nerving an apple or two from their security; the swollen eyes moving gently before my cluttered heart. A heart that pumps two thousand gallons of blood a day through this visceral body, and yet it seems to seize in the moment, gazing into those reflective spheres.

Tick, tick, tick, and then silence, as time itself holds steady for the interlude that is about to weigh in.

The unfolding of a map that contains all the hidden treasures of ones long and laborious life, each highway, street, road, and avenue, flooding the senses with a burning sensation. Burning like a fine liquor drifting slowly down ones throat and into the intestines, streaming its way into the belly where it becomes a furnace to heat the body. You become flush when the thoughts of your first lover blooms as the first rose of summer. It’s color is the richest red and it holds within its folds the indescribable scent of a love that flashes as lightening might fill the sky, ever so brief; and lo, the regrets flow in as calm waves upon the shores, bringing along with them the drowning depths of desperation. To forget, to never recall would suit me just fine, but emotions are buzzing now, like the honeycomb full of bees.

Here my mind gets the better of me, with its reel to the past, recalling her large brown eyes, full of tenderness and the occasional conspire. Which was always known by the subtle turn of her head and the flit of the lids, suggesting an idea has just set in, ever so pleasantly. Her soft skin a gentle bronze that lit her eyes, and the dark raven hair that fell straight down only to settle upon the plateaus of her suggestive posture. A petite little beauty that filled my mind and heart with the greatest joys of youth. Why sweet woman did I let you go, my ignorant love fell so short of your worth that I mistakenly lost you through the tirade of restlessness. Ignorant I have been and mistakes I have made, and each one a pinprick that has grown to a tree that looms to fall upon my breath.

I don’t recall the meaning or event that was taking place when we first met, most likely for its lack of importance, I know there were others about, some festivity of high school students. I also recall the police breaking up the scene, due to the loudness no doubt. Some folks were jumping fences while others walked nonchalantly past the cops outside and just went home. Yet we, you, your friend, and myself; we were standing amidst the chaos of confused young minds and the emotions that were infiltrating the moment. There your eyes were set upon me, and the only words I remember from your lips are, “that’s him,” as your arm stretched forth to point at me, your voice and gesture loud enough to garner my full attention. And there it was again, the stillness of time, a moment come and gone, a moment now gently encased within a locket of memories, of love and passions lost.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s