I used to paint my skies with your forever youthful laugh, then one morning the white magic vanished.

There goes those familiar violin chords, and the ever more familiar courtyard appears within my mind’s eye. Young winds whisk my feet upwards as those autumnal leaves disappear, and the vernal air of once upon another time surfaces. Fifteen then. Those were the days, long walks in a southern neighbourhood of a small suburban town – for that was all I could do.

Floridian tales of my own fabrication rise from the dust of a teenage mind, singing the lines of a plot that I had written and have almost forgotten. That fabled drive from nowhere to somewhere, it paralyzes me now.

The music fades, and a lone piano breaks up the dark. Nineteen again. There I was, with an unparalleled vision of bright lights and cityscapes, instilled forever in the core of my drying heart. Yellow taxi cabs rush past me, and I slow down – breathing in a city that stole my sole dream long before it matured.



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