to anywhere that these continue

I once knew the feeling of a warm breeze on my face. The distant sound of laughter that barely makes it through the swaying trees in my mind. The smell of a fresh cut lawn and the taste of hard granola. Lucy was seen from under a pink blanket. I once felt grass between my toes and lay in clean contentment waiting for hair to dry. Concrete ran under my bare feet and sweat cooled as the setting sun chased my shadow away. Bubbles lived on my tongue and dirt in my ears. Was it my night to sleep with the dog? I would run my fingers through his hair and have conversations with myself.

I once felt the insecurity and timidity of lower education. Table choosing and meaningless conversation. Spaghetti and the loneliness of a middle distance runner. The conflict between respect and hatred for authority. Early morning detentions coaxed my homework into completion. I once knew the feeling of hope for better days. No more policemen in the living room. No more courageous notes to place on my Dad's bed. And definitely no more punching and spitting to put holes and grime on a brother's love.

I once felt the freedom of a windy car ride. Sunglasses ablaze with brilliant reflections. Chicken fajitas and meaningful conversation. Laying under the piano and examining stars right after ourselves. The new smell of smoke and the full fury of innocence and the gentle red of love's first blush. I once knew the sound of evaporation and the taste of a smile. The soft, almost skinless connection of untouched hands. Friends and brother were close as security faded like a life jacket memory. Then I saw lips.

I once lived in a twelve story high-rise with accommodations as splendid as the state would allow. I knew the feeling of 8 am and sticky down on my neck and feet. New faces everywhere to be seen, but nowhere to be found. Then new faces to be old and old faces to be forever. I once lived as a monk and slept with the bugs and dreamt of moonlit clouds. Old faces became forever and nightly were the trips to visit the best. Books with text were trudged through while books with life were soaked through with blood that I wish was mine. Late night conversations held me by the collar and I was not always there to hear it all. The snow fell silently out a tree light window and the sun rose high when love was painted on my sleeve.

Right now I feel the tapping of my fingers and wish it was a ticket.