Capricious

23 - Flashes in the Dark

"My soul is impatient with itself, as with a bothersome child; its restlessness keeps growing and is forever the same. Everything interests me, but nothing holds me. I attend to everything, dreaming all the while."
- Fernando Pessoa

We ran free through the city, two wheels in the sun. Treasuring the speed, the utter freedom of moving so easily through the world. So much drifting past, admiring all. Beauties just found exploding music on my back. Through parks and palaces and protests we rode. We spoke of beauty and madness and chances at these. I was high on happiness, and I rode foolishly alongside, barely keeping up towards the end. When I first formed poetic graces, chasing in the sunlight, what a time that was. I need to ride free again.

My first trip to that empire by the sea, drinking and smoking to set the scene, we walk through the doors and behold the rage inside. A girl approaches, grabs my head and sticks her tongue in my mouth, bending it with mine, I move with her until she retreats, then off she stumbles. We smile. Through vodka we throw ourselves into dance against many a classic and chart hit. My move unto my chosen desire of the night, light flirtations we mix. Then away to the floor, watching friends making magic with all that is on show. Talent or utter silliness I do not know, sudden I catch the eye of one. She is small, dark brown hair flowing in a spray of blue light in the dark glow. We move together, our bodies closing to the same rhythm. Then we are on each other, softly covered bodies grinding together. My hands on her hips, her bum against my crotch. We groove as one, our perfect rhythm joining us together. My heart beats faster, my mouth searches for hers, we melt into each other, sharing our waltz through the crowd. Turns of lips smooching and tongues fondling and bodies grazing. Through every song we change tempo, every song we change moves, but the sequence never changes. Through kings of lion and Leon we clash. Then the night moves to its end, how many hours had passed? Every second treasured and relished. The longest kiss of my life, and then we are apart, and then she is gone, and the night closes shut.

It was the medieval ages for me. I rode in on horseback, my love of literature and exploration and running free pulling us together again and again. She was gorgeous. Her perfectly round face and rosy cheeks, her long chestnut hair and small rouge lips. How shy we were. All the time I admired her from a distance, feeling so ugly compared to her. But walking down to the museum, the day we did first aid, running in the park, the competition in the cold. And the journeys we faced together. The night I sang for her, the day we met along the road, the night we all played gleefully in the woods. I was going to ask her, but I just took too long.

That week in the country house with those seventeen others. Indie music, alcohol and barbecues. Lying on the grass and on the beach and forever in the sun. Climbing rocks and trailing rivers, shooting pool and striking darts. Drunk games we played, nights of shots and dances and hide and seek. We had everything to ourselves. We drove and swam and surfed, wetsuits and tandem bike rides. The lost bridge between mountains. Still it was fun.

Old place, older friends, we meet as if no time has passed. I follow from the mall I woke up in, up stairs and across the bridge, and there she sits. Clipping leaves above the train tracks all in pink. I approach to end this, to reveal everything, all I have done to her and all she has done to me. How long she's been hiding. Our eyes meet, our mouths begin to speak, the dream fades. Because I will never get such a chance.

It lifts me up, a racing storm of a beat. Carrying me higher, an apparition against the never-ending sky. I am alive wherever, control matters not. I have lost it. I am born again, from common Olympics and immature fun.

We fell away, delving into highs on a constant flow, between coffee shops and dreams, through the city of canals. Rolling and smoking and blazing. My consciousness exploding with experiences as I trip out my glorious mind. Sleep, eat, ride, hit. Substances to keep me in the clouds, oft too high to move, trapped inside these worlds as they collide with my mind in such inventive ways. Dolphins and treehouses, truffles and steak, Northern Lights to Skywalker Kush. A zombie of high, and still feeling so alive.