I think youth shows us something new and something different. Maybe I was afraid then too. Or maybe I was less afraid than I am now.
Maybe experience tricks us into believing that one thing is the same as all things.
But what about the dreams?
What happened to the way things used to be?
Was everything we had not good enough?
I understand that all things change. I understand that nothing stays the same and anything that does can become ordinary, at best.
Such is life after the newness wears off.
But what if I want the old thrill back?
What if I want something that will always be, even if everything changes?
What if I want that perpetual feeling of undeniable youth?
I want to be wild and unconcerned about the conditions of time or whether I will heal enough to stand up on my own two feet the next day, sore as ever.
I have somehow pushed through the good and bad. I have survived all of my yesterdays and I have come through without a scratch. I admit to my scars, however, or the aches and pains that come with wear and tear of age and time.
I understand that time is undefeated and indestructible.
I get this too.
Years later. I can see me now as opposed to the way I saw myself then.
Am I so different?
Are we?
Of course, if I had the chance to run and play, I would do it all over again.
Do we not have the same idea to find whatever it takes to be happy?
Yes, to be happy, at least for the moment, or at least for a while.
Safe to say that all has changed.
Safe to say that we look back and wish we could recover a moment or two.
I would have gone left instead of right.
Absolutely.
Safe to say that we view today’s youth and regard this generation with frustration, of course, which is only a reflection of “self” and a reminder of what we “wish” we did when the chance was ours.
Take chances.
Live.
Move, and go, be, and do.
These are brilliant ideas which are short and to the point.
The trouble is. . .
We complicate the simplest things with overthought and doubt.
We find ourselves mad or worried that our attempts are hopeless and that perhaps we might fall short.
Or fail . . .
Again . . .
Move.
Do something. Try anything.
Even if it’s wrong, right?
But there is no more wrong.
Even if the ends do not seem to be worth the means, it doesn’t matter because in this case, the ends are to live as best as we can which is something that always justify the means.
This is our life we are talking about here —
This is all for keeps.
There are no more take backs or do-overs.
We are all alive and on stage and operating in real time.
Only memories have slow motion replay.
And this is not always a benefit.
We have to live, which is not to say that we have to live selfishly or with self-centered goals, or become low, or leach-like, egocentric; like the sign of the devil himself, the greatest tempter of all, smiling and feasting on our needs, which he takes as payment with interest.
To hell with the remarks from the spectators and bystanders.
I want to be too busy being alive to notice the bullshit.
Therefore, to hell with the Monday morning critics or their passive/aggressive bullshit.
To hell with doubt, or to hell with doubting everything for the sake of doubt and fear that the next great thing is always too good to be true.
Maybe I am too good.
Maybe you are too.
Faults and all.
I know my San Francisco dreams will not be as I dreamed them to be. New Mexico was not what I expected either. Then again, I have an imagination.
I have lived so deeply in my hopes and my fantasies that my fears assume that reality might not meet my expectations.
San Francisco . . .
I always wished I could sit at some coffee shop, look around and think to myself, I made it.
Or what about Baja? What about Del Sur?
What about the islands I have dreamed of and the turquoise glow of beautiful blue water — and her, tanned from the sun and bright enough to blind me; brilliant enough to shine brighter than the sun.
This is beautiful.
Her –
and the way I view her curves, seductive and wild, burning brightly to stoke the fires in my heart.
Amazing.
I admire her, fully, as in head to toe.
Nothing is off limits. Nothing is taboo.
Nothing can stop us.
Nothing at all.
Not the undefeated natures of time.
Not Mother Nature, Herself.
Mother of all, The Great Creator, and the generous bosom of the world.
I dream of a hammock between two palms on a white sand beach, and her beside me, tanned, a flower in her hair above her ear, and I imagine she is laying on her side, draping across my chest with her head resting on me, and leaning on my body, as in skin on skin.
I dream of this.
Whether I achieve this dream or if my life goes to the wayside, I know that the day she touches me, she will have outshined my fantasy –
. . . the same as her eyes outshine the sun. Believe me.
The Written Addiction 