When We Were Younger

It all seems so impersonal. Feeling like the walking wounded soldiers shambling from the trenches. Stagger left, stumble right. Bullet volleys blanket the sun. A time for peace and a time for love. I write the words, but I don't feel the impact anymore. How do you reclaim something no one is able to take?

My bones will sing. My heart will beat. And my mind will scatter. I wish my skin could shed. Don't cry too much when you realize it's just another four years and you're still the same. Don't feel broken or beaten down.

I never saw Greece or Rome. I haven't touched Japan. I've wanted to go deep sea fishing for a while now. Like in Capote's book In Cold Blood. A fish so huge it could not only represent our dreams; it could be them. Bigger than mountains, taller than sweet Lord.

Laddakh was nice, though. Waters so salty and cold. They could fill you up. They could squeeze your lungs, and you wouldn't even care. I could crawl back to the sand dunes choking, gasping, smiling. Sit down and watch the tide roll in and out. Watch the others watching, wondering if I'm wondering the same as them.

I think Gulmarg was still my favorite. Snow piling up nearly as tall as me, but it was so easy to breathe. The town was so inviting. And the drive back out of Laddakh...Dear God, was it beautiful. A long way south, I wondered how I could ever feel free. A long way north, I wonder how good life can be.