There are places we go, deep in the woods, in a song, in our minds.

The movement of arms and the pulling of shirt halts the dream.

Reality snaps back in place: A soft smile under dark glasses.

A closed fist and a deep breath bring peace again. Temporarily.

Count to 10. Suddenly it almost didn’t happen.

Almost.

And there will be days where the sun shines bright and warm. Every bird will sing, and every blossom will produce the sweetest of smells released into the coolest of breezes.

And then there will be your suffering. For you will never see the transition between the two. For you, the sun will not rise nor will it set. It will simply be there until it isn’t.

I was important.
I was not alone.
I had you.

I left.
I felt lonely.
I felt insignificant.
I was without you.

Looking behind me, I see
Though I was not alone,
I was lonely still.
Though I was important,
my importance was trivial.

Looking ahead, I see
I am alone,
though unlonely.
I am unknown,
thought my importance is significant.

Lonely has no opposite.

The click-scrape of plastic parts
forgotten far in the back,
each corner forcing a new worry.
Despite the noise, I write while driving
because it feels good to feel.

I will teach nine years of love
followed by nine years of cunning.
And she will not be ill-equipped
As I am.

A faked smile from the girl
that makes my coffee.
I will surround myself in this.
I will absorb these beautiful things.
I will hold them close and forever
as paper sucks up ink into its fibers.
Even if they are make believe.

I take a deep breath and stop her. I’m not from here either, but, maybe I can I help you find something? “Well, I was just looking for a little cafe to sit and have a cup of coffee.” I am too, shall we look together? We laugh at the idea, our arms folded awkwardly, our eyes searching. Then we walk down the street together, laughing and talking.

I hold the door open for her. She walks in first. It’s nothing special, nothing extraordinary, but it’s ours. Our first house. Completely ours. We laugh at the sheer possibilities and end up laying side by side in a pile of undress in the middle of the living room floor, the door still open to the hallway. I get up to use the rest room.

As I enter the living room I notice she looks even more beautiful today than yesterday. Has she done something different? Is it my love for her, ever increasing? Is it our unborn child inside her? Does it even matter? I sit next to her on the couch, kiss her growing belly, and sigh a sigh of happiness and content. We sit for a moment hand in hand, words unspoken, before she heads off into the kitchen.

“Supper’s ready!” she calls out. She’s made an early dinner for just the two.  Our two children still at home are off doing other things this evening. The table is decorated, candles are lit, wine is poured, and she looks as incredible to me as she did the day I met her on the street in New York City. We eat while talking about our day and playing footsie under the table. Even after all these years, her smile can still bring that burn to my chest. I clear the table after dinner as she goes to get herself ready. We’re supposed to meet my daughter and her husband later that evening. They’ve got some news for us.

I walk into the living room full of Christmas gifts. All of the grandchildren stare at me with hungry, glistening eyes knowing that Christmas doesn’t start until I begin handing out the gifts. So, of course, I take my time watching them squirm with excitement and burst with protest. We have a wonderful dinner that evening. No matter how old we get, it’s the one ritual we simply won’t give up. I love having all of them under my roof all at once. I feel complete. As the last of the family heads home I put on my coat and decide to go for a quick stroll in the evening light.

I walk down the street remember each event of my life as though it had only just occurred. Each moment leading to the next. I am so fortunate. I am so happy. I am so loved. I try to imagine it any other way and it simply doesn’t work. I make my way around the corner and begin walking along all the shops, closed for the day, when I spot another person walking toward me.

She’s wearing sandals and her toes are painted light blue. The sun catches her golden hair making it radiate. She’s obviously searching for something.

As a tourist, I’m sure I can’t help her find what she’s looking for in a place as large as New York City. I pass her with a smile on my face considering the possibilities and then wander into a cafe alone for a cup of coffee.

In this moment
I remember what I left
in the back of a drawer
682 days ago and I realize

I will always be an addict.

until something breaks, bubbling up to the surface.

friends and city planners will proclaim
no one saw it coming!
it happened all of a sudden!

loved ones and mayors will rejoice
as the flooding stops
the pipes are mended
and the skin is restored
leaving only a small scar
that will fade in time.

yet still unseen under the skin
are the small cracks and leaks.
the empty, rusted pipes
that lead to the next
unpredictable eruption.

We burned our safe green hues at one another.
One last display of Yellow, and Red
and deep, deep, Orange.
All of our secrets clearly visible in the veins
that held our various colors together.
And our eyes never closed
for fear of missing anything.
We gave everything we had
knowing we’d have nothing left to give.

Burnt up, our exteriors became stiff and brittle
as quickly as our now darkened leaves once burned
from innocent green to the hottest of yellows.

The winds blew and we fell
down, down, down to lay
cold on the the earthen floor of winter.

In retrospect I see that, somehow, when I got married something clicked in my brain that indicated “Daniel, you are now an adult and must act like one without exception”. Yet, ironically, I am now more suited to be childish and cater to my whims than I have ever been.

I have a regular paycheck, a steady job, and a respectable career. I also have my wife: a source of constant love and unwavering acceptance. No matter how far off course I go, or which absurd path I follow, I know that my wife will always be there to help me find my way in the darkness and help me back to solid ground. Never before have I been in a position more capable of allowing me to seek out my fantasies, follow my gut, explore my lusts, kindle my loves, and enjoy things simply for the thrill of it. And, to top it off, I have another set of fantasies, instincts, lusts, loves, and thrills to weave into my own, and the most incredible and beautiful girl in the world to share it all with.

There’s no reason whatsoever for me to grow up, be so responsible, so adult, so… old. So I’m not going to. From now on, I’m growing down.

until we learn to walk.

Then it matters not.

We are not settlers.
We accept that we can’t see everything
and then try to do it anyway.
Hand-in-hand crossing roads
into untraveled pastures
where the hummingbird wanders;
so close to the busy street
yet so far from the world.

We are not settlers.
Idle wings bring boredom and death as
we are only hours from starvation.
Our next meal can only be found
in the rising sun, the center of a flower,
those subtle glances, unforced tears,
new conversations, the secrets of the world,
and in this self-made promise:
each night, as we collapse
in a puddle of giggles and sweat and satisfaction
we know that tomorrow we will be
just as clueless as we are today
and just as hungry.

—-
I have not written anything poetic in quite some time. I feel awakened.