Fantastic Era(s)
<< 6:26 p.m. - Wednesday, Aug. 24, 2005 >>
And here the fact remains; I am the one who stays. I linger in the same streets as my earlier childhood as the blurs of cars and moving vehicles blow on by. I�m still holding my hand out waiting for a thistle puff to find it�s way into my grasp. Missing my cue. Missing the white lines I saw drawn before me once. As friends empty across the states, I wonder if it�s just me, but is the light dimming already? Franticly want to fly away with them. I want to return to the rivers and wash myself out to the sea. No really, I do. We swam in cold glacial runoff and my little heart was pounding so fast and steady.

I need to say something that matters. I need words that cling like oatmeal and expand in my stomach after time. It has been so long since I felt like I could say anything, my head, my hands are clammy.

Lately I have been going through the 6-inch thick pile of letters from high school and summers passed and finding myself groping for a solid floor. Swamped by memories and all the fantastic hopes we sustained for so long. Are they dead now? I do not think so. We are not fearless explorers we were anymore. I get so soggy eyed and lost in the midst of those words. A whole world we had. It�s broken, no longer there, but still it swims before my eyes. How many fucking times can I say it? Obviously not enough.
This is a process. This is me writing again.