Being Honest With Fiction

I want to see myself somewhere far from here, lost and found, and sitting in a little place with coffee and a small breakfast.
I want to sit down facing the scene of a small town where people smile and say simple things like “hello,” or “good morning,” for no other reason than to be kind.
I want to be at a place where common decency is still common.

I want to be elsewhere, of course, and find myself like a familiar stranger. And this could be anywhere.
But no.
I would rather go back to my dreams of good old New Mexico . . .
You . . .

I want to experience the adventure of small town treasures and notice the way the desert sands line the side of long highways. I want to notice the desert with a sweet surrender that makes my heart think wildly about a dream I’ve had.
You . . .

I want to see you there like, say, waiting for me in something that gives more than just a “come hither,” appeal. 

I want to feel something that feels like the beginning again. I want this to wipe away the cobwebs of our sorry travels and bring on the rainbows that break through holes in the clouds.
I want to wipe away the meaningless past, which is empty and void unless of course, we choose to revisit and fill ourselves with the old regrettable choices.

I want this.
I want this now more than ever.
I want to feel the sun on my face in a place south of where I am now. The blue sky is empty and free from blemishes. The wind is warm and calm and kind enough to lift the hair away from my face.

I want to feel the feelings of being perfectly excused or absolved and be fine enough to be at peace.

I want to go to a small town venue and see a village celebrate a summer festival.
There would be cotton candy or little kids, happy to eat candy apples, and perhaps there could be a village square and couples who grew up in the town would dance a slow dance and share their love for one another.

I want this . . .

You . . .

I want to be part of this the same as I want to feel like I am part of you.

I want to drive down to the city where my Mother was born in Carlsbad.
I want to drive to where my Grandparents are buried. And no, I never knew much about them.
I have only been to New Mexico a few times.
But yes.
I want to go.

I want to see my old friend Chimayo and thank the church for its contribution to my faith.
I want to sit in that little chapel and offer my thanks for all I have been given.

I want to watch the sun go down over the sands and think about how wonderful it is to see a cactus, as in live and in person.

Please don’t go.
Please don;t leave me.
The day has only started and I . . .
I am just another silly man
Lost
Found
In love
and
Waiting