I sit here, outside, in what seems to be the perfect night. The train is sounding off in the distance -- that haunting, echoey, foghorn-like way that has always instilled a great deal of contentedness inside of me. It's 5:00am. The sky is as crystal-clear as it can get in a densely populated area of NJ. The birds chirp obsessively; sounding so enthused to start the day -- maybe I should ask them what their secret is, because I've yet to find much reason to be as enthused as they. The way I see it is, at this moment, right here where I am, is perfect. In the darkness, while most everyone sleeps, the world is seemingly on pause, waiting to be further destroyed with the rising of the morning sun and awakenings of the parasites that infest it. In this driveway, I've sat, so many lonely times before, waiting for an answer, a friend, a phone call, a bullet to the head. So many people have walked up this driveway; some never to do so more than once. I don't have to strain my mind thinking about the few people whom I wish still walked up this driveway, as it sits in its forlorn state -- a victim of unkind years. Sounds familiar. It's a rarity that I can refer to anything as 'perfect'. As I've been writing, the black, night sky has changed to an unpleasant blue-color -- an unfortunate indication that another day is at hand. Another day of the expected and unexpected. Another day that carries me further and further away from a time that I mourn for continually. And maybe... just maybe... one day, I can get over it.
Perfect rarely crosses my lips
5:26 a.m.//04.21.05
Mood: Good
Posted from: The driveway
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