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Looking out and seeing that moonlight reflecting on the bay, as I sit here in the heat and humidity of a late spring night, and hearing the fans working at trying to move that heated, heavy air. Except for the sounds of the fans, one can almost hear themselves sweat. Looking back is a bad habit we all try not to do, and all of us seem to be guilty of it and try not to do it, and it seems to be like an un-written rule or law, as some always look back. Able to see those shreds of memories like old grey and torn photographs lying in the fields, and able to still be hearing too, those old wounded words of laughter that are now like graveyards of the past.

Knowing that there is no-one else here in the heat of this night, with no-one to point a finger at, and no-one else being here to blame. As I sit here looking out at that reflected moonlight on the bay out the window, and seeing all out there in swirling greys, blacks, and whites. After having taken and followed that old Highway 61 getting here, and knowing that no-one made me make this trip out here, nor did anyone put those words in my mouth or cause them to be said. As I now sit here in the heat meeting once again with what seems like an old friend, and soon to talk with the darkness again with nothing but silence except for the fans. Once having been called an individual and free, but now calling myself a fool, with time, having changed us all.

After having seen friends both disappear and then arrive, as well as having also seen the pretty people disappear like smoke. Having felt the world shake from those words that were said, as all seems to currently be nothing but darkness within darkness, and I am needing and wanting a reason for the way that things have to be. Nature gave us colours along with the day and the night, with the seasons being the winter and the summer and only being able to take so much with the measure after measure that is felt. Having these thoughts while sitting here in the darkness as I sit here looking out at the bay as the tide ebbs and flows.

Wondering how many paths were tried and failed? Knowing that all that is created, becomes all that is both wrecked and hated, while playing that zero-option game that very few can win and seeking no compromise. As I sit here feeling lost in time with these harsh thoughts trying to be nobody’s fool, and having found no real solution(s), and not needing fallout from the past repeating, with me being able to buy seclusion but not peace as reason is lost with no release.

Seeing the moonlight reflecting out there on the bay, as highway dreams and those things that were seen pass like reflections in my eyes. I am not wanting any sympathy, for this is where I was meant to be at this moment in time, and I find at times I also at times am needing no face, name, or any of the martyr’s artificial shame.

Copyright May 2005: Timberwolf International LTD.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than storiesspace.com with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © Copyright Timberwolf International LTD. All rights reserved. Copyrighted and protected under the copyright laws of both The United States and of The United Kingdom. Under U. S. Code Title 17 § 204. No unauthorized duplication by any means including electronic, or copying may be allowed unless permission is asked for in writing and permission therefore granted by the author or copyright holder, or his/her agent. In writing and signed by the owner of the rights conveyed or such owner’s duly authorized agent. And duly witnessed by his or her representative or duly assigned agent. Under penalty of copyright infringement or intellectual property theft. All violators will be prosecuted.

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