The elevated streetlights flicker and sway high above the treetops, pushing back the envelope of darkness on this unusually warm fall night–my only companions on this night of nights. A car engine fades into the distance, swaddled by the sounds of the machines that hum nearby, as I sit here and wonder about what is to come during my next 30 years of life.

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 Without the high highs, and the low lows to draw on my literary powers, the constant emotional turmoil has been replaced by relative complacent contentment.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.

A crisp gust of wind bit into my face, reddening my cheeks and reminding me that winter had suddenly come upon us. Tugging my jacket a bit tighter around me, I took the stairs two at a time, then numbingly fumbled through the front door. With the slight chatter of teeth, I stomped my feet and waited for my eyes to adjust to the lightless space inside. Kicking off my shoes, I made my way through the emptiness to the waiting hum of machines and sat down.

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.

Did I tell you about the storm that rolled in last night? It was the clash of thunder and rain; a war that tore apart the intricate silk tapestry of that watercolor canvas. Those winds whipped, whisked, and whirled like whips unfurled. They cracked with anger at the ruins of our ethereal painting. Dreary was that war, sliding in on two feet and out on all four. With shoulders slumped and head bowed low, my defeated soul trudged slowly like a phantom caught in the snow.

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?

Oh how I envy the air that surrounds you, the air that you breathe. With each passing moment, you inhale, exhale, then inhale, inviting it in to swirl around inside, caressing you with its delicate life-giving touch. It enters freely, not knowing you at all, but will know you intimately before leaving, forever changed by you.

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.

He walked the halls in his comfortable bubble of silence. A light summer breeze ruffled his hair and followed every his step as his way wound through the sun sheltered halls. With each step, his shoulder bag slowly swung with its own particular rhythm. The only sounds the permeated the air were the light clicking footfalls of his shoes and the slight ruffling of his shirt as it rubbed against itself.

It had been over a half dozen years since he had been back to these halls of learning. The halls reminded him of a period of time when he would learn the most about life and the world that existed outside of academia. The successes and failures that he experienced were part of the unspoken rules that governed the real world. Those kinds of realizations just didn’t occur to him at the time, but he remembered their lessons very well.

Impulsive decisions and inexperience were what guided him through those turbulent years. Trial and error were his trademarks during those times of struggle and tribulation. He might not have grown up in the ghetto, but adversity comes in many forms and he was glad to have survived. Some people weren’t so lucky. Many of those decisions were tempered with logic and intelligence, but he was young and mistakes were expected. With the passing of each event or incident, he learned a little bit more and corrected himself. Young were his years, but he never used that excuse for the things he had experienced–both tragic and joyful alike. Now with the passage of time, they had left their palpable mark upon his darkened soul.

He still had a youthful look, but there was much wisdom and maturity set deep into his eyes and stance. Over time, that youthfulness and inexperience transformed into something greater. It had turned him into an insightful and collected adult that crossed the school campus alone that day. Looking around with eyes that weren’t quite old, but nor were they young any longer, he noticed how much things had changed. Lots of changes happened in the years that had come and gone. He could barely recognize the scenery that lay before him.

Now there were new buildings, a new administrative staff and like always, a new student body that occupied the halls in which he once stood. As the years swiftly flew by, there were times that he could almost forget what had happened all those years ago but a part of him that never wanted to forget. He never wanted to forget some of those wonderful days, or the horrible days that followed.

Bending down near a patch of dead, dry grass, he placed a freshly cut purple orchid at the spot where that tragic incident happened so long ago. Standing up, he bowed his head for a long moment of silence, recalling those days with vivid clarity. Taking one last look at the flower laying at his feet, he turned around and walked away. The wind had picked up, whipping through his hair, telling him to look back but he didn’t. What had transpired was something that most people would have tried to forget. He never did.

He still felt responsible for the ill-fated events that lead up to that unfortunate day, although some had said that there was nothing he could do. Those words that tried to absolved him of guilt were a small measure of comfort compared to the hollow hole in his heart that he had been carrying ever since. His past was his past and he would never forget it, or those who had walked with him during those days. But to dwell on it would invite unwanted self-destruction. It was simply not his way.

He didn’t look back as he strode into the future, never forgetting the ones that came before him, or the lessons he learned from them as well. Getting into the car, he took one last look at those cream colored walls that were so much a part of his adolescence and drove away.

Rain. tak tak tak… I used to listen to the raindrops falling from the sky, late at night, while lying in my bed alone. The individual drops would tap against my windows, etching out their short-lived existence in a beautiful brilliance only nature could muster. in between the silent drone of languid dreaming and wakefulness, I would catch a glimpse of their paths as they slid through trails of reason and fantasy.

So comfortable they were, knowing that their lives were meant for something greater. They were assuredly valued beyond measure, with fairly simple choices that lay before them–at least that’s what we’d like to think. But there is always that stubborn one. The one which continues its search for the meaning behind its existence, zigging and zagging across the pane, determined to create its own footprints in an already chaotic land.

Lying in my bed alone, frozen by the thought that with so many possibilities, it might never find what it was looking for, even if it knew where to start. Either that, or it would simply splash out–dying and melding back into the pool, never knowing what its true purpose was.

tak tak tak…I try not to listen anymore.

The steady humming of the jet’s engines had eased me onto a plane of purgatory, devoid of physical trappings. My thoughts swirled around, constructing a private mental barrier that sound and other distractions could not penetrate. Staring at the ceiling, I thought about the days following my graduation from middle school; routine days of uncertainty and doubt.

There were times when Jess’ image would flicker against the backdrop of my mind’s eye, as I routinely went about my days, casting a heavy iron-laden net over my conscience. There were moments of weakness and self-loathing, for I recalled those very last minutes of our encounter. I had lots of time by myself to ponder the things I said and wondered if I had made the right choice. I had second thoughts about getting on this plane, believing that, maybe, just maybe if I had stayed behind, things might possibly be mended.

But on the other hand, there are some things that aren’t worth salvaging. This might have been one of those times.

If I had stayed, what could I possibly do anyway? Could what we had be mended? Was there any way to piece together what we had? Maybe even a friendship? There wasn’t a day that went by where my logic and my heart refused to fight, shedding each other’s blood on the battlefield of my soul. Weighing the pros and cons turned into some sort of sickness, a torturous way to pass the time.

Nothing could be done about it now, seeing how I was 35,000 feet in the air, soaring east, on our way to France.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Lynn asked.

“Nothing really. Just stuff that happened at school before I graduated.”

“Oh, like what? Girls?” she said jokingly, as she prodded me with her elbow.

I looked over at her, and didn’t say much more, giving her pause to her familial teasing. Shrugging, I went back to staring out of the window at the skies, and the growing darkness that was equal to the growing bitterness that was taking over the space in my heart. I knew that it was supposed to be a fun, family trip, but a large part of myself refused to let me enjoy it. It would rather I suffer the constant soakings in the vat of pain that I had created.

Lynn was my favorite cousin. She was 4 years older than I was, but the closest family member to me in age, aside from my younger sister. She was well into her high school years, and since she was the only child in her own family, she was used to the older sister role in mine. Although she had my respect and love, she knew that she couldn’t push me too far. I was physically bigger and stronger than her, and I often treated her as an equal, rather than with awe and admiration.

“Yeah, some things happen this past year between me and a girl. Another guy was involved, and it’s eating me alive,” I confessed quietly.

“So, what happened?”

Long moments passed before the words slowly tumbled end over end, spilling out of my mouth like a roaring river that had been dammed up for too long. All the sadness, anger, resentment and bitterness that had been suppressed for the last few months was suddenly released in a geyser-like shower. I wasn’t really talking to her, sometimes looking out the window or looking at the floor, trying to keep myself from getting overly emotional. As I recited my story from the beginning, I filled in bits and pieces of missing background along the way. When I was finished, I sat back and sighed, looking out of the window once again. I felt a great weight lift from my shoulders and the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomache eased a bit.

Minutes passed before she leaned over and hugged me tightly, acutely aware of the pain I must have been going through. She didn’t utter a word for a long time, and just held my slumped shoulders in her arms, trying to give me as much comfort as she could. Letting go, she sat back and looked at me with a proud glint in her eye.

“I guess you’re not a kid anymore,” she said with an air of finality.

“Oh? Was I ever a kid to begin with?” I joked.

There was some truth to that, seeing how I somehow found the short cut to growing up, due to my precociousness. Unfortunately, understanding the world around me and growing up quickly didn’t mean that I was mature. My maturity came in random spurts and unpredictable bursts, which more often got me into trouble, than kept me out of it.

“Yeah, you’ll always be a kid, but I’m pleasantly surprised and proud of how well you’ve handled this whole ordeal. There might be hope for you yet.”

“Yeah, well, I understand, but it doesn’t hurt any less,” I said, choking back the sadness that still permeated my skin, like thousands of fiery needles.

“Things will get better, believe me, but try to leave it behind you, if just for this trip. You don’t want them to worry about you, if you’re moping around all the time, do you?”

“No, I guess not. Don’t want them to call home and have Mom get on my case about it.”

An announcement pulled our attention away from the conversation and directed it outside the plane. It was dark out as the wingtips grazed the topmost layer of clouds blanketing the city. They were scant and gave the well-lit city an ethereal feel, like being trapped inside of a fog machine as strobe-lights flashed all about. It was a beautiful sight to behold, the city filled with glittering lights, filtering through the clouds that surrounded the area. We had already begun our descent and spent the next 15 mins getting used to the change in cabin pressure.

A sharp jerk and squeal of the wheels told me we had touched down and we were taxiing toward the gate.

Paris; the city of love, light, and splendor.

“Bonjour, Paris, la ville de la lumière.” I muttered.

We had arrived.

Part: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, to be continued…

Life for rent
Huge neon signs
Lamenting softly
One dollar, two dollars, nine dollars spent
And not one extra red cent

That’s how life works
The rich, the poor, the middle class whores
As we climb the ladder of nevermore
All intent on making spaces
Never just content with taking in faces

Into the silver sea one must dive
Covered with ash, soot and grime
Everything is for rent
Your soul, your love, your time
Don’t tell me it’s for naught

Greenbacks attack your Bimmer or Benz
Clawing at those Christian Dior lens
Trading up makes the world go ’round
Does charity begin, does it make a sound
When is wealth truly a friend

Are we bound and tethered
To that space on the ground
Flapping, fluttering and flying
Do your feet get off the ground
If they are constantly bound

Now, later, alligator
Shackled, bound and tied
Have they not the clarity to see
When will it be
That the world stops renting me

Standing upright, arms wide in mid-flight
Who do I run from in rushing red waves of light
Fleeing blindly along the path that follows
The river of uncertainty, hope and tomorrow

There are mysteries in life accepted as truth
No other such clues available as proof
From simple seedlings relationships sprout
Giving birth to bartenders, experience and doubt

Swiftly we hurry from beginning to end
Not really watching where one might land
Upon a heart our swiftness might tread
Does the resonance feel good when it all goes dead?

Sitting there waiting for an event untold
A change in the wind peppers me with cold
Constantly reminding about those hidden pages
Secreted away, the wisdom of all ages

Myriad of questions flying to and fro
Are there any answers, please don’t say no
All out of time and all out of breath
Bringing closure to the one that’s left

Under a blanket of crystalline shards
Reflective in quality, somewhat like stars
Muted cries to the dark heavens above
For a soul seldom speaks to no one but love

How do you make the burning pain go away

As it drags on day after day

How do you begin to cope and dry the hurt you feel inside

As the world slowly spins and passes you by

How do you make the aching stop

When your heart seems to be in total shock

How do you make the gnawing pain subside

When you’re all torn up inside

Why do these feelings show

Like the pure simple brightness of fallen snow