The first 30 have served me well, the peaks and troughs coming and going as often as the tides. Time has passed, and the ground has settled a bit beneath me, giving me purchase and the ability to dwell on the days of future past. The days seem to roll by much more quickly now as we get older. Our busy lives taking full reign, shoving aside the lazy loafing of our teenage years, eating up every second of every day, and we wonder where the time goes.

Life has been fairly good to me. It has behaved rather well, and has not given me too much grief, and for that I’m glad. But because of such good behavior, the outlandish antics and historical histrionics of my life have waned, and my writing has suffered in its stead. Without the high highs, and the low lows to draw on my literary powers, the constant emotional turmoil has been replaced by relative complacent contentment.

But with that realization, I am no longer content to stand here idly, watching the river of time rushing on by. It frustrates me to have become so comfortable that I have almost forgotten who I am.

So it seems fitting that I start my writing anew, on this day of days, this night of nights.

My very own birthday.

Sliding around the corner at over 80mph in 3rd gear was no easy task. Although its not exactly how you’re supposed to take “The Hill”, it can be done. When taking the hill at those speeds, you have to be unwavering in your decisions because some choices can cost you your life.

Rounding the bend, I could feel the suspension give a bit underneath me, due to the centrifugal force that was threatening to throw the car into the concrete divider. The 4 foot high divider ran right up the center of the highway, separating the northbound cars from the southbound cars. The tires hopped, but held onto the asphalt below me, as I flew around the bend way beyond the posted 40mph speed limit.

Coming out of the corner, I shifted up into 4th, then 5th gear again. The short stretch of highway before me could scarcely be considered a break because of the multiple 40mph corners that lay ahead. Over and over again, I double-clutched and held on as I slid through each subsequent turn.

Coming out of the 15 miles worth of twists and turns, I had made the run on “The Hill” in record time.

I shook my head and looked up to see a car full of high school kids hooting and hollering. As the light turned green, the driver stomped on the gas and they sped off. Crossing the street, I sighed and slowly pedaled my way home.

Being that I was one of the few souls that wandered the streets this morning, I decided to take a roundabout route, to and from home. Walking down the street, I meandered through the alleys and side streets, pausing to look into shops and stores, devoid of any of the activity that they would be experiencing as the day draws on. The closed store fronts afforded me the opportunity to gaze upon a still sleeping city. One that wouldn’t be asleep before long.

The street lights that changed from green to red and back again, were the only objects that seemed to have any life at all. They were diligently performing their assigned duties at regular intervals. Birds perched atop of those lights, peered down at the silent streets below. Soon those streets would be filled with the hustle and bustle of people, rushing off, preoccupied with their own tasks in mind.

Making a left turn, onto the last leg of my journey toward home, I took a deep breath of the fresh morning air. It was still unspoiled by the automobile exhaust fumes that was sure to fill the air soon. As I made my way down the street, I spied an attractive woman hurrying in the opposite direction, toward whatever destination she had in mind. I nodded, smiled and greeted her with a pleasant, “Good Morning”. She flashed me a brief smile and hurried on her way.

Stepping to the front door of my home, I took one last look at the world and committed to memory the tranquil peace that still hung in the air. A car roared by, snapping me out of that moment. The driver, intent on making it to work on time, didn’t even take the time to enjoy what was left of the morning.

The day had begun.

Air was clear and the sky was a bright blue. It seemed like it had been painted that way, instead of being something borne of nature. There was not a cloud in the sky. The view was so clear that you could see for miles in any direction you chose.

Laying on his side, he gazed at the greenery that stretched before him like a green canvas–draped over a textured landscape. Wisps of steam rose from the trees; the water evaporating from the leaves of the morning sun. The sun had risen from the east, behind his back, casting a warm glow that seemed to add a halo of shimmering light to everything it touched.

The scene that he saw looked at if it was wreathed in a spiritual power that he couldn’t put his finger on. The view lifted his spirits higher and he soared above all of mankind’s pettiness and flaws, at least for the moment.

Sighing with contentment, he drifted off to sleep.

It was nap-time.

He had traversed these halls as a student, an athlete and as a coach. There were good times and then there were bad times. What made those years a memorable part of him were all the bits and pieces in between. The sports, the games, the camaraderie and the friendships that helped influence his thoughts and actions. With a slight gust of wind, these memories came drifting forward in time, engulfing him in visual canvas pieces of his past.

In recalling these memories and people of years past, he remembered an acquaintance. A friend of sorts. A guy that had no tangible connection to him in any way. Someone completely and utterly different from the people he normally associated with in school. But for some reason, they had a friendship, even though they seem to be on the opposite sides of the spectrum. It wasn’t a very visible friendship, filled with name calling, taunting and the typical high school belittling of others.

It was an interesting friendship to say the least. It started out based on assumptions each had for the other, and it grew over time into something tolerable and of mutual respect. It wasn’t a close friendship, rife with competition, taunting and often times openly expressed dislike for each other. It was like a strategic war game that was fought on the battlefield of the school grounds. How their unsteady friendship survived, he really didn’t know, but he’d leave that kind of analysis to the psychologists.

He wasn’t even sure they could even call it a friendship.

The respect and tolerance that he had learned from this acquaintance-like friend had changed him, but he wouldn’t come to that understanding until he had passed into academic history. The things that happened during those carefree days of adolescent academia were forever embedded into his personality. He had actually become a better person without realizing it. Some of those changes were a direct result of his interactions between this particular friend and himself.

They had grown up and gone their separate ways. Thinking about it now, those two years of a cautious and largely veiled friendship were special to him. It was something different than what he was used to. It was something that was taken for granted. Now that they had moved on, sometimes he wished that it was one of those friendships that had held strong.

Crossing the parking lot, he headed toward the edge of the campus where he was parked. Opening the door and settling himself into the car, a thought crossed his mind. “Sometimes, you don’t even realize that you’ve even learned anything from the people that have passed through your life, until too much time has passed to thank them.”

He silently thanked his now absent friend for the opportunity to get to know him and drove away.

Contemplating the darkness, I flipped the monitor on and checked my email, absently wishing that there was someone else here to turn the lights on for; someone who would warm the house, turn on the stove, and fill the bed beside me. Someone who could pepper the walls with noise, their voice echoing off the walls and ceiling, and through the vacant rooms of my heart.

There was a time in my life when I bought into a needful things philosophy, finding ways to cover these floors with furniture and possessions, hiding the grainy lines of age and experience. They have all been beautiful pieces, each one crafted with patience and tempered with fire, then placed with purpose; their significance understood by no one but me. However, for all my vaunted efforts, they would never be enough to fill these spaces–as they sat there empty, hollow and cold.

Surrounding myself with people had been my only shelter from the constant solitude. The oft-scattered clatter of shoes, and the whispers of the multitudes kept me company as they passed through these halls, but they never lingered long enough to leave any impressions in the hardwood floors. Although they were many, they came and went like drifting phantoms in the night, disappearing at daylight, leaving me emptier than ever before.

I could have easily grown used to you being here–listening for your light padding footsteps as you made your way through the halls. I could have easily loved the way your lilting voice and joyous laughter decorated the house, in ways that no piano, or flute, or tinkle of bells ever could. The dreams of growing used to your warming giggles floated there, just out of reach. They often surfaced during those sunny days spent skipping work, just to watch the sunrise from the shore. I could have really grown used to you, my devilish angel; a kindred spirit I could stay up all night with, pondering the wonders of the world.

Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted? To find in someone the right mix of challenge and compromise, a person you would want to win over? Someone who could care enough about you to envelope you in a blanket of security, but gave you the strength to unfurl your wings and watch you soar? Isn’t this what you always wanted–to have someone love you more than you loved yourself?

There are times where I miss you dearly, not knowing what you’re doing or where you are. But I can see you so clearly in those moments where I’m not even sure if my mind is coming or going. You laying there, curled up on the bed, encapsulated in a silk shell, feet tucked under you, snuggling away the winter in front of the tv. You were the one for me; with your bright eyes shining, and smile always inviting, swallowing me up whole.

Staring out at the blustering winds, I can’t help but imagine you being here. Turning away from the windows and gazing into the empty darkness, I know now that I can’t see you anywhere. Those memories of you are spiked with warmth and joy, permeating the very corners of my soul, but then the empty chill floods these caverns and reminds me that you aren’t here.

As summer turned to fall, and fall turned to winter, winter will surely turn to spring. I wait with bated breath as a shell of a man waiting for new beginnings. So as the old year passes, I wrap myself in memories of days of future past, embraces long gone, and sensations almost entirely forgotten–ones that didn’t last.

It’s been months now as I needled away at the shreds of my sanity. I desperately stitched together the rips, unaware that those tears were filled with your helpless tears. No matter what I tried, they kept growing wider and wider, and I didn’t quite understand why. I beat my chest and bellowed into the rain, looking for what had become of us, but only finding pain. I asked you then as I ask you now; did you hear those clouds’ plaintive cries?

I finally stopped trying to understand what was happening and just let things be. Maybe I should have seen this coming, this thing between you and me. Time passed between us, and the temporal rifts set us adrift. This sadness lingers in my chest, and of all people, you know this best. I can’t quite explain it, and I still don’t understand why. But I simply get it now, after all this time.

Was something there between us, something divine? But now I’m wondering if it was just the wrong moment, just the wrong time? Was it a mirage, or merely a dream? Do I awake from this storm with all this lightning and rain, to find out that this it, nothing else can be seen? Have I woken up and it’s all that it seems?

In a brief expanse of time, those lingering breaths touch your heart in ways that I can only wish to know. As they circulate around inside, reaching out and touring the intricate pathways to your soul, I can’t help but wonder if it understands what it was, what it is, and what it will be.

The envy I feel is not unlike the silent pangs of guilt that racks us all. It’s a dull piercing ache, coupled with an untouchable whisk of longing to be with the one we want, but each is unaware of the other. Because of that, I’m all at once jealous, and sad, of the next breath you take, for I long to be that next breath, wanting to forever be changed by you.