Saturday, December 12, 2015

When we were young.

"And I wonder
When I sing along with you
If everything could ever feel this real forever
If anything could ever be this good again..."

  -Foo Fighters---Everlong

We walked the streets until full dark, city lights kicking on to illuminate our steps. Walking with unhurried steps, no fears of what tomorrow holds or concern for the future. We will never grow old, so time wasted is no time at all, we have plenty of it, we have it to burn.

The days passed in a blur of emotions, moments made from long drawn out conversations, car rides and broke down couches we sat on, we dreamed. The hands we clasped, the embraces we held, the poignant moments we etched into time itself. The images still carved into stone, erected into our past, the street corners, the boulevards, the hallways, the empty alleyways, the quiet rooms, standing tall and waiting.

The minutes turned into hours and the hours turned into seasons. The seasons passed by without much notice and became our past. Then those seasons turned into fond memories. The memories turning into embellished stories we shared amongst the few who knew, the few who were there and passed the days with us, who bled the blood, who tasted the tears and laughed for joy.

Now we have new streets, and new cities. We have different seasons passing, framed in a new lens of time, seen with different eyes, aged and sharpened, hardened and sobered.

Now our hours quickly turn into minutes and our days into fleeting glances as we hold hands with different people, embrace new friends, and make new memories that quickly mix into the background of aging quietude.

The sparks burn low and our eyes shine bright, we walk the streets and in the distance we see the city limits.

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