It doesn’t seem real to me anymore. My past or my younger life. I am far removed from those days. I have memories of when I was young. At the same time, I have grown to the point where I question my memories now. I question if memory is real or a liar or, at times, I question if our memory happened at all.
I support the motto that there are usually more than one side to a story. I support the idea that there are often three sides, which is my side, your side, and the truth is somewhere in-between.
I believe this.

I want to find that place or that great arrival, like when someone arrives from a plane in the center of paradise. I want to feel the warmth of an island breeze across my skin when the sun is high and the air smells from the turquoise sea.

I want to build myself in this manifestation of paradise, alone, of course, with you as you are—no fixing or changing or the need to adjust or wear anything that symbolizes the grandiosity of our social presence.
I want to be stripped of our so-called worldly possessions and see nothing else but life without the burdens of unnatural things, like say, Lexington at 45^th during the rain when everyone is hurling themselves in a mad dash to get to the Metro North Railroad at Grand Central Station.

I am one of two things on a daily basis.
I am either a step closer towards an answer, or I am one step further away. I suppose this is depending upon my direction or the journey I choose.
Perhaps this is so for all of us.

Of course, the world is an amazing place. I know this is true.
It has to be true.
I am amazed about the way we live, or how we survive, and get by.
Some have it easier.
Or like I was once told, “Some are sicker than others, and you kid . . . you are definitely one of the some!”
Maybe I am one of the some.

You have to be fearless.
You have to be ready, willing, and able to face what comes.
No matter what.
There can be no more excuses.

There’s no more room for lies. As for opening up to the ideas of self investigation, or when we talk about facing the music, we have to understand that there is no more time to stall.
We cannot push this off. We have wasted enough time and, therefore, we have no time to procrastinate.

I like to feel good.
Don’t you?
I like the idea of something strong enough to come along and stop the anxiety or quiet the stress in my head.
I like the idea of something that can counteract or reverse the tides, and when things are to heavy, we can take a dose, and just like that, the world can become easy. We can become right again.
Of course, I like this idea.
Who wouldn’t?

There are typical ways that people can do this. And sure, there are the obvious routes which are common and known by all. There are the tonics and marketed cures with names like Southern Comfort.
You can have a drink. You can take a pill. And the list can go on.

If we have to talk about it, then we have to talk about everything. Or like I was told, you have to get to the bottom before we can get to the top.
Then again, I was also told that we have to hit bottom before we can stand up again. Sometimes, we have to hit rock-bottom to realize that it is time for a change.

I think that first and foremost, no one expects the worst to happen.
But the worst happens.
There is a side of our thinking that either doesn’t know, doesn’t believe or doesn’t care about the warnings and the red flags along the way. Even if we know the odds are close or the odds are against us, we tend to be swayed by such beautiful lies with hopes that somehow, this can save us.

Can I tell you about the best high I’ve ever felt?
In all fairness, you should already know about this because you were there, at least, in more ways than you can imagine.
Then again, you are me and I am you and we have always been one and the same. Or so I hope.
You have always been my other half and my reflection to which I can see me as I am. You are the grounding agent that helps me and more, you are the balance to an imbalanced life in an imbalanced world, and as the imbalanced child, or as the young adult who grew to become a man, you have always held this station in my heart—my heart, my life, my love, and my voice of reason.

Rain is falling, which is a good thing, at least I think so.
And yes, I love it this way. It’s raining outside and all is quiet.
I think we can talk best on days like today.
But rain falls for more than one purpose.
I have been told about the dryness and the possibility of fires which is due to the absence of rain.  

I understand this.
I also understand the tensions and strains of life, which can be tough sometimes.
I know what it feels like when the pressures around us build up to a point where the smallest thing can detonate the heart and cause us to explode.

Like . . . BOOM!

I suppose I have always wanted to be this way. As in, the way I am now or the way I am here, when I am alone or here with you. I never wanted to be tough or to be so brave or brazen or as if to walk or be without shame.
Besides, who is brave? Or what is bravery anyway?
I never wanted to walk as if I were a force to be reckoned with or as if I had to walk with a lean or slant to show that I am trigger capable and battle proven.
Yes, I have scars. Some are visible and some are invisible or undetectable to others or unseeable to the blind eye.

Who wants to be common? Who wants to be plain? Or who wants to be ordinary with nothing about you to stand out or to be bright or noticeable?
Who wants to be boring or humdrum? Who wants to be unwanted to the point where your life is about as interesting as a mandatory continuing education class at work.
Or who wants to be as much fun as an insurance seminar?
I can say this because I have been witness to both. So I can say this with authority—no one wants to be plain or tasteless. Nobody wants to be bland. We all want to have something. We want to have our own spice or flavor. I know I do.
We want to be noticed and wanted and more than just included, we want to be valued and desired. Or again, at least I do.