I dig a sandcastle. I watch characters cast shadows over a moat of salt and water as if it were lava. I imagine a drawbridge. I lose myself in the letters the king writes. I wallow in the charades of the queen.
I want to sit in the back of a dusty truck, smiling at a song no one hears, listening to the colors that form thoughts in my head. I want to wipe sweat and feel my fingers tremble, knowing how few regrets I care to carry. There’s no denial in my voice, but in my heart, I know that the dust will live on the wind.
Concrete thoughts, they ground me down to dirt, drifting and as dangerous as at my worst. I scream, hearing, feeling, creating, listing the numbers that cross gaps and treat wounds. I can hear myself think. I can hear myself breathe. I can hear my world clearly. I can see myself, and I am ruined.
There’s no life I’d rather live.
But when I see you, I think I can, I know I can, I believe I can, because I have the faith, the reason, my reason, and that means more to me than all the silver in the world.
I long to be born again. Bent, not brittle, lucky, special, stealing the mannerisms of a better time. I want to be blinded by something other than memories, liveries, cadences and the pieces that make me whole. I want to sit in the shade and listen, watch, wait, and creep forwards before the time is right. I want to lay in the grass and sink deeper than ice, crackling faster than sound, soaking up the sun as one does an ice cream sundae. Hot fudge. Shaved ice. Lemon on the menu and a tingle on the tongue.
Creature comfort.