At some point I stopped becoming who I was meant to be. The dreams continue to drive my memories to the point where it all changed, to the point I long to remember. She is in my peripheral. She dances in that gossamer white gown just out of my field of vision. But I can see her, and I can’t. The festivities had just about ended, but the party was just starting. All the young ones were winding up and their music was beginning to play. They didn’t know how much I truly understand. They don’t know I know where they all are headed. The big room was filled with dim light. Kids dancing and touching as they never had before. I remembered. I remembered the feelings and the warmth before the emptiness took over. I remember before her.
Walking through the big room the kids parted as in a script when I passed. Two sticky strips of art hung from my fingertips. One was hers but not, the other a vague poem written in Chinese. I made it to what had been my room I shared. He was there with friends not getting into the music, not dancing. He sat on the bed with a much more mature girl as I attempted to hang my vague art on the large mirror behind him. I noticed a bottle of bourbon in the closet among more gossamer clothing. Have a drink with me my friend, I motioned as I took the bottle out to show him. An older chaperone who also understood, but in a quiet way, grabbed two glasses from an old cardboard box I had been packing by belongings with. I looked at my friend who was smiling, but not with his eyes as I poured the booze. Here’s to us, what was, and what is no more.
The Journey of a thousand miles 