
Rain feel from the dark sky, cold and hard, down my face, and past my eyes, like cold, lonely tears. There’s something I Love about walking in the rain, late night, down these city streets. There’s something magical about the Village at this time. Things change, reality fades. Sometimes, if you close your eyes, you can go backwards in time, and live in a day that once was. The same streets where F. Scott Fitzgerald once walked, with Zelda by his side. Where Kerouac once wrote, drank, and wandered lost, like someone I know so well.
So as I walked, I thought, as I sometimes do, of things long since gone, of things lost to time. Those persistent thoughts, lonely thoughts, revealing themselves at the strangest of times. I thought of a girl, with short brown hair, and the most amazing smile, talking my hand, and walking with me through the park on a cold winter’s day. How I’d Loved her, how I’d lost her, and how I’d managed to go on without her. And then I started to think of what could have been. Our beautiful house, and beautiful times, all put to rest by the actions of this unjust world. And then I went back further.
A young man driving a white sports car along the coast of the California shore. It was almost sunset as he passed a glance and a smile to the beautiful girl at his side. Although there were no words, something was exchanged, one of those deep forms of touching another without even the slightest of movements. A special time in his mind, when things were real, when all things living were felt. I can remember the soft ocean breeze blowing against my face, and through my hair. The clear blue sky above, and the deep blue ocean below. Those were special times in my life.
Now the rain had began to let up, as I crossed the lonely street, a few beautiful girls walking in the distance, hand in hand with two of the night’s luckiest guys. And I alone, in rain soaked clothes, had reached my destination, as I walked inside, and said goodbye to the night, and dreamt of better days, peacefully in my dreams.
From Out On My Own by Jonathan Lamas
© 2003, All Rights Reserved.
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