i find myself, at some point other than the present, sitting in a blue foldout beach chair beside my bedroom window, the one closest to the driveway, listening to the sound of rain as it hits the black shingles of roof.
at the moment i'm an old wizened man, though the mirror dares say otherwise. my internal speech is aged and beyond my current years. this is thanks to many days spent in the chair, pouring myself over texts, and eating plate after plate of tyson chicken nuggets.
it is summer, not too long ago, some momentary lull between high school years where my friends drifted away. i thought of many things in that bedroom. how i always wished it would rain outside, the peace bringing a calmness to my heart that has never quite been matched.
it was always hot in that room, but i didn't mind. i had a small black electronic fan, and its 'whurr' back and forth, as it blew on my face, went away, and came back again, was reassuring. like the memories i was evoking from my readings, it was pleasant, and i enjoyed life by myself.
i thought about my high school crush, except that the crush in question did not go to my high school. my novice heart is not hard to decipher, as even a fool can tell when an honest man lies. that is about all i will say straight-forwardly about her at the present.
where my life was headed, and where i was going, were all questions that seemed to wrap themselves around my mind in an air of newfound wisdom. i was no longer scared, or wary of my future. it would come, and i would face it best i can.
it really is funny sometimes, how certain events change our lives. i've always believed one of my flaws to be i was much too influenced by things and people. perhaps that makes me dangerous, as well.
it's hard to live in a fantasy when the real world keeps pattering outside your window on the black roof shingles. i remember one night i lay, forsaken, in my bed, with my window blinds up, and a full moon staring down at me, bathing my sheets. there was a distinct place i wanted to be, and a distinct person i wanted to be with. had the devil appeared before me and offered a proposition in accordance for my soul, i'd say chances are good i would have taken it. that is how deluded and warped i can become.
yet the fantasy of childhood finds itself disappearing, as it does with everyone i suppose. sadly enough, we all lose those moments where we wish to fly, or cast magic, or be somebody special.
that part of my memory, that holds so much, is locked away, but easily retrievable. it is so expansive that i think an entire mental library section has been devoted to it. there is just something about that time, something about that place, that still holds me in speechless, awe-inspired, breath-taking, captivation.
it could very well be the solitude i endured, and the fact that i enjoyed it. being alone with only my thoughts and imagination was something i wish everyone to have at least once in their lives. i have experienced that magic, and loved fictional characters, but never in my wildest dreams will i live out that state of mind again.
the best that i can do, is walk down the archives of my memory, and attempt to locate the monstrous tome that undoubtedly holds the best memories of my youth. they are not memories of others, of laughter, of water parks and friends, but of myself, in my room, next to the window (closest to the driveway) unleashing from my mind a thirst that quite possibly no literary master can quell.
