March 30, 2011

On Definitions And Fuel

The rush. The wave I ride through days of focused persistence and nights of determination. Important work fuels. Runs through my veins. Steady. Cluttered chaos falls away and I intuitively navigate. Hours melt away and minutes pass unnoticed. Until completed.

When it's time to go, nothing more to do here, solid job, I walk out the door into the night.  The air has a new depth with woven dark and damp pieces I didn't recognize before. The bright street lights force a squint until a yellow halo appears around the head of the man selling newspapers to support the homeless. The escalator doesn't move fast enough on these nights. I'm a few strides short of running and my feet move at a pace faster than my head. I'm still thinking slow and steady, as I stream through the entrance gate and slide into the empty seat in an almost empty car.

That song on repeat. As if I could ever help it. Perhaps I'm swallowed whole, but I already dove in. Let go and let this all wash over me. With my eyes closed I can see clearly and with them open I watch the rain slam sideways against the metro window. I'm already outside with it streaming down my face. Out there somewhere between laughter and tears where it all feels exactly as it should. We're here together. I can feel it all. I know precisely what to do.

The rush will wear off and the wave will deliver me to the shore, where my legs will give way. I'll end up laid out on the sand out of breath. Left wondering. About the dark woven sky and the feel of rain. Everything that I knew, now gone. The clutter returns. And I try, again, to define myself.

No comments:

Post a Comment