I am writing this entry to you from the dimness of a late-night thought. Mainly because I cannot sleep and partly because the thoughts I have are swirling around. There are no lights on but the soft gray from my computer screen brightens the loft where I keep my journals. I call this place my Writing Loft because this is where I write and like you, I need someplace sacred. I need someplace that makes sense, a sanctuary, someplace devoted and somewhere that I can retreat to and find salvation.

I am writing in the quietest setting with some soft background music playing with just a hint of sound. I come here each morning to make my daily confession. I do this to leash my thoughts to keep them from running away. 
I do this with no distractions and for no other reason than to deliver this to you with an open heart. But more, I do this to wipe away all the sorry images and decorations that we wear throughout the day—to just be real, so that I can be me and you can be you. There’s no need to be tough here. After all, it’s tough enough just to get through the day.
Know what I mean?

There are times when I find myself driving through my old hometown. So much has changed. The landscapes, the storefronts and the people have changed too. There are, however, the unchangeable familiarities that my mind will never forget; and when I’m home, it’s as though my body knows where to go. I don’t need to think about which direction to turn. Somehow, it’s as if my mind shuts off and I revert back to the different stations of my youth. And the town, she is fine with me. The old places and familiar streets are like an ever loving mother, anonymous and gentle, always welcoming and always comforting, regardless of who I was or what I did. 

I was a kid once too. I admit it, I was part of a crowd. I admit to being part of the wild ones. We were the crazy kids in the town. We laughed and we carried on. We ran around and we caused some havoc. But we were young at the time and this is what kids do. Isn’t it?

We were both hopeful and hopeless; yet, we were all just trying to understand what life was all about. We wanted to learn and see things. We wanted to touch, taste and feel. We were trying to find our way around the playground and trying to find out who we were. What is this thing called life? Is any of this real? Are you real?
Was I?

Ah, the friend, the person who knows and the one who understands. I can say that I am lucky to have had friends in my life. I have had people who somehow instinctively know it is time for a call. These are real friends. These are the people to hang on to. These are the ones that will detail our memory and at the final time, when we find ourselves at the twilight of life and the dawn of a new entry, our friends and loved ones are the momentum that keeps the pulse going.

There was nothing so special about that afternoon. There is no reason why this day sticks out in my mind, other than the fact that this was simply a day in my life. Nothing happened. There was no special excitement. There was nothing specific or notable about this day. I was coming home after a weekend out. It was summertime in New York City. I made the choice to walk from 23^rd Street at 2^nd Avenue over to the Westside on 8^th to walk upward towards Pennsylvania Station and make my train ride home.

I see no reason to be disturbed or bothered by the way people live. I know there are different forms of life. I know there are people with different wants and desires or likes and fashions. I see no reason to argue about this or fight. Perhaps to some, there are things about me that go against their taste. I know who I am though. I know what I like and prefer or enjoy. I know this is me and you are you and this is fine. No really, it is.

There was a young man that I shared a room with for a short amount of time. His name was Chris. He was tall. Good looking. Chris was an athlete to say the least and although his challenges did not help promote his best interest, Chris was talented, strong, charismatic, and yes, I can say that Chris was my friend. As it would be for any friend, it was difficult to see Chris go through his tough times. 

What I miss the most about those days are the crazy little places and the wild little dives that we went to or that we ate in. The City was a much different place to me. I was young and learning more about the romance I have between myself and the different streets and different places. There were different feelings which pertained to the different parts of the Downtown venues or Uptown, plus there were the Eastside or the Westside places, which all came with different vibes. There was a separation between daylight and nighttime and the places to go or the things to do, say like, get a haircut at Astro place, and get ready for the sun to go down so that we could howl and be crazy.

There are special rules that will always apply to us. And to me, there will always be us and the way things used to be. We will always have this connection that runs a bit deeper than other people from our past. Yet, even them, they were a part of us too. And the town, the names, the stores, the parks and the memories, quiet as kept and just between us, are the threads that weave my memories together.
We will always be what we were, what we used to be, and what we are now. It was years ago, of course, which is more like decades now or maybe even lifetimes, but still, the same rules apply. The same truths and the same facts remain which is this: You never forget the kids from the neighborhood. You never forget who you grew up with.

Nothing is really the same anymore. The old town is still the old town and the exit off the parkway still takes me down the same road. A lot of the neighborhood has changed though. Different landmarks have had a facelift and some are just gone. Some of the stores have closed. New ones have opened. The streets are the same but most of everyone I knew has either grown older or moved away. Some of us lost touch and some have grown so distant that we would be unrecognizable to each other now. 

I’d have sworn it would always be this way, our youth, the summer, the waterfront and the early mornings after the long nights, driving home into the sunrise and then finding my way through the door to crash for a few hours. I’d have sworn I could always do things like this. I thought I would always be able to run forever, as fast as I could, and I could live my life on the edge.
I’d have sworn this was the truth and that age was only something that happened to old people. And me, I swore that I would never grow old. I would never let that happen. Not on my watch.

I would never lose the rush or the need for adrenaline. I swore I would always have the feeling of life at the sunset and the bars down by the waterfront. The lights were bright. The music played and I was an entirely different version of myself.