for her

Monday, May 19, 2008 3:15pm

Each step a life of language lived - words to fill pages, forcing myself to stop and take note, for I will forget.

A good day.

This is my life - a moment to kill - so I end up at Coney Island, accompanied by a wind that is either trying to fill my being with dust and sand, or an attempt to expurgate a freight train of aches and disappointment. I walk with my eyes and mouth closed, unfortunately my mind is open, like floodgates and the crashing waves - I allow peeks so that I may trace my steps - and her.

A few days ago, I had asked myself, for what is it I am after? That moment when one says 'I love you' for the first time and genuinely means it - that tension taut followed by it's release and requited response, a genuine sigh, relief - the truest sense of home. or when a song comes on and it encompasses exactly your emotional state in regards to a specific situation. - If anyone, it should be her to receive my mistakes. And I let another escape, aloud, unanswered.

I pass a man with white beard and hair that perfectly and quite impressively, match his all same shade of white attire. Through the fog of squinted eyes and dust blown fury, he's a spitting image of a cliched god. He's smiling, taking note of my taking notice. The sun further bleaches him out, nearly erasing him. I return my glance from the sea, he's gone. A welcomed distraction disappeared.

The sky is filled with huge luminous clouds - threatening, possibly promising a storm - yet the sun is blinding. A sight to take in. Salt for the wounds, sand for the eyes, ash on the tongue, dust on the day... Impatiently, the wind is trying to knock it all down. Erosion will not work fast enough.

I walk to the end of the pier. No diving or jumping. I will never be good at taking orders or following directions. I have made peace so many times here, this very spot - left with so many pieces amongst the bloodstained boardwalk, bullet holes, and broken beer bottles.

I have been accused of many things, and I'm quite certain this part isn't over - I have been guilty of most of them, but I am ALIVE and I am learning - living, letting go.

Kids trying to create chaos, helping the wind commit it's ruin - I see myself in them...
It's my last day of school, and I want to join them, set fire to the discarded.

I wonder if this is (living) dying.