Tonight, I am standing here.
Almost naked on this suburban street.
It feels as if I've walked out of the ocean, onto the sand, while the wind mists the few rain drops against my face.
It's back. We're back.
I feel the cold against my legs. It's real.
And the trees say, "Hello," and remind me of a time.
It's rare what I feel tonight.
"Welcome home," they say.
Only to awake to breeze under grey clouds. All I could ever ask for.
Atop this mountain you can't see far yet.
The mist arrives and the dew nestles on the stained glass windows.
The play comes out and kindness is spread in wealth.
And it only lasts a few moments but comes around just in time.
The music sings a little clearer and softer.
Patience is discovered.
The jackets are back in style, the kisses are warmer.
The street lamps smile and the notes ring on in my head.
I swear the air smells a little sweeter, tastes a little better.
Some might say life is more authentic.
God, I think it's wired a little differently.
I think I think a lot.
It sees things slightly different than them.
Wants to relish in the past.
The past of first grade classrooms and lunch tables,
Cafeteria lines and chocolate milk.
The ever sustaining accomplishment of being first in the lunch line.
It believes all that is real is fake and all that is fiction is real.
Sincerity lives here.
Innocence lives here.
A tuned in television set to a show of look and feel.
This is the way it should look and feel.
Where have all the good ones gone?
Enchanted classrooms standing in front of a wall covered in vines live here.
Imagination too wild to control that it rarely releases anything.
A first love with Friday winds.
Isn't it fantastic?
How small you can feel in an open field?
Under an ocean of broken clouds in dim light?
Look how I can move swiftly as they hover still.
The sky tonight is a silhouette in front of the sunlight that bounces off the Moon onto Earth.
Mesmerizing joined with laughter and chaos.
We're not lucky to witness such greatness.
We're blessed.
And maybe that should tell me something.
That you don't mess around with the good ones.
That they bring you peace.
Half of it.
And when the sun falls asleep she will keep you warm.
Like a pillow she will let your head rest gently.
Like the hands of a saint she'll disarm you.
Forever we will fight with words.
And to describe what I feel you would've had to live it.
Like a screenplay night written for a film
You wouldn't have believed it unless you were there..
You must excuse my eyes, they're trying not to stare.
