Here’s to Momentum

Posted on December 30, 2008

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Tonight after coming out of the apartment I felt like I had walked into a movie. The wind had that perfect sing, strong and threatening gusts, and the scent that it carried was of a creeping spring and a beginning. The long stalks of brown grass in the field in front of my car whispered that I was not alone. The powerlines above me were buzzing. The black of the evening was pure silk. It was setting the stage.

Something was afoot.

I slipped into my car and started driving. Left lane must turn left. My dashboard glowed with intense greens and red. Speed limit 45. Just like the stoplights. One way. The red lights flicked to green and after leaving the city I plunged into the darkness of the outskirts. Lane ends, merge left. I pass by lonely intersections and gas stations that have closed up for the night and corner lottos. No turns.

All of the road signs are pointing me in the right direction. They either pose as guides in the dark, laws of the path, or addendums to the continuing journey. Voices, arrows.

But I know where I’m going.

Sometimes you make me sad and I’m not quite sure why. You connect with people on such deep levels so quickly that I’m starting to see you as pure Emotion in human form. You are by no means unstable and you don’t forego logical thought, and that’s not the problem. I still hang onto jewels of memories we both have hidden away on the shelves inside of us. Even if I have nothing else to talk about I’ll reach for them and talk about the snowflakes and the rehearsals in the winter.

But now there is distance.

It’s that incalculable, inevitable distance. It’s there because it has to be and for all intents and purposes I want it to be, but it’s different. You haven’t changed a bit and I’m off on the other side of town changing with every hour you aren’t around.

I know who you are still. I can still see you crafting and cutting those jewels for everyone else in the room. Even if you aren’t in the same room as I am, I know you’re still building conversations and giving attention and leaving a trail of tiny diamonds behind you as you walk. And it’s good for everyone around you.

One final turn onto the last road before I reach home. One more set of lights. They are screaming, flooding, momentum, green.

Here’s to direction, here’s to distance, and here’s to the diamonds you left on the ground.

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