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unblocked     jan9.07

Like a breath of fresh air or the smell of the dew-heavy air in June. That's how the cold hit had me. All too sudden, but warming in its own way. Like a refrigerated blanket, as oxymoronic as it sounds, the wind held me close, like it never wanted to let me go. It's howls through the Scarborough park sky were like reassuring whispers in my ear, telling me that everything would be alright. I knew better, but I still let it lift my soul. Just the thought of someone, anyone, holding me close and reassuring me had me convinced that it had to have been genuine.

As I stared up into the night sky, words just filled my head like water overflowing from a glass. Timeless fantasies, the two words that first tumbled out of my mouth as the stars revealed themselves to me. They danced for me, their little twinkling waltzes. But I'm not too sure, it could've just been because I was stoned. But it made me laugh anyway, as they blinked in time to the music in my head.

This must be what poetry is, I thought as I began making midnight clouds with puffs of smoke. The stars didn't protest and the wind squealed in delight as the speeding of cars approved in the distance. And just as quickly as I had made the clouds, I blew them away, knowing that nothing could forever stay. See? It's poetry, it's all poetry. Sad to say, though, I am no poet. I am a writer. As hard as I try, I will never be the poet that I yearn to be. But, the wind reassure me, that's okay.

Then I hear the music. It's not the resounding echo of the iPod just a few feet away from me. No, it's the real music: the wind is singing in time with the traffic, then the trains feel the urge to join. It's all very beautiful, in a crass and raucous sort of way, but, again, I was stoned and it could've all just been me. But I don't care anymore because the words are still dripping from my head, heavy and sweet, like honey.

♥