Hey—come with me. You
mean something to me—I
want to spend time with you.
So let’s walk. Somewhere; anywhere,
where the sky blends and darkens ahead,
a mishmash of emotion.
Everything I touch becomes cluttered and messy—
but only in an organized way. True facts.

Time is an ever-flowing river;
fast currents pull us through parts of
our lives, and the river slows to a
trickle as we wish we could move
past it. I struggle to keep my head above water
through every change in current.
It moves slowly when we are
lazy and procrastinating; it rushes us
so we have no time to write a song or
graduate with honors.
I have used time as wisely as I know how to—
I am still young. Status of adulthood when given
by a number means nothing.

Social fear is almost completely eliminated. I
will not—dare not—lie about love. The other gender
brings no dessert sweet enough to catch my attention.
Their eyes hold no delicacy. Eyes, my weak point—but
only when well-dressed with a touch of color, framed by
perfectly-shaped brows above, like the roof of the
Sistine Chapel with all the delicately carved pews below.

You aren’t walking beside me anymore. Why not?
Where have you gone?
I continue on.

An old, rickety playground set stands
lonely and pitifully. Mold is slowly
spreading, covering its wooden frame. A swing’s chain
has been cruelly severed; the seat lays uncomfortably
on the crabgrass below.

I shouldn’t be where I am—I should be
living my life a pampered house cat, adored by
all who know me. But peace comes to me
regardless; in the deep chlorinated waters, I hear
the soothing sound of nothingness. Repetition calms
me. I move swiftly forth and back before continuing on my way.
But someone has crossed my path, someone I
didn’t expect. He’s young-looking, very young-looking
considering how long he’s been around, and is dressed in
a fine business suit. I look up at him in
wonder, but all he says to me is “Don’t worry, it’s nowhere
near time for you,” and he moves quickly and gracefully past.

Time is like a car, speeding too quickly and then
suddenly lying dormant. I know next to nothing
about worth.

My feet dangle over the ground as I sit on the
too-small seat of the one remaining swing. The
color of the mold on the wood is soothingly heartbreaking.
I am waiting for a playmate but no one
is around for miles.

I move on again, to recording studios in Texas.
There the skies have finally lightened, the sun glowing
as the clouds recede, and I know then
that my journey has ended.