The next thing I knew, it was summertime. The warmth began to change the way we spent our time outdoors. The days were longer and the nights were hotter. And I?
I was a young man, lovelessly hopeful and silently admiring those who had someone to go home to.
Spring had gone by so fast, as if yesterday was just here.
The winter was a blur to me, as if autumn had just begun by changing the leaves on the trees in Central Park.
New York City had finally calmed down from its previous hiatus and all the “who’s-who’s” and “what’s-what” and the popular debutantes and socialites race to beaches in their Hampton summer homes or fight their spots on the Fire Island ferries.
I am not so sure how this is or how things happen.
Age stepped in and the days of being “out east” are light years away and more like a story that happened to me in another life.
I am not sure how time flies and blows passed us, like speeding cars on the expressway, unaware and uncaring about the rest of the world because to them, all lanes are the passing lane.
I see time like this too.
Remember when life was free enough not to care who came or went?
The Written Addiction 