It's funny to think about.
I guess I value the moments in my life that seem the most poignant.
Beautiful, cool, lavishly green afternoons in the park, when I have no doubt what I want in life. Bitter cold winter evenings, when my family has left me to ward our home over Christmas, and I sleep on the living room floor in front of a roaring fire, like I've watched my dogs do with minor jealousy for all of my life. Seeing something so vast and blue, with sand between my toes, and a family as whole as my youthful heart, back in a simpler, happy life. Listening to Don McLean in my parent's bathroom, over and over, until my father was sick of it. Walking on the dunes late at night with my family, back when I was still creating my identity. Shows in Philadelphia with my sister, or nights at the diner, when snow falls like it does in movies, slow and fat in slowly growing circles. Lazy afternoons at home, when my mother dated Ray Brannagh. New Year's at Jim's and our repetitive but childish antics fueled with alcohol, cold weather, and good cheer. Having a beer at the Pub with Carrie, when our easy conversation float the hours by, and I'm left feeling sated at the night's end.
It's those moments when I'm at the center of the life I want to live. When I'm deep in that sweet center of the fruit which is the result of the life I've lead. I'm not saying I'm perfect, because the idea is laughable. I've done nothing but get my hands dirty, though I must say I've done my best to live and honest life. And I value the way I've been. Still, there's a lot I'd give up to be eighteen and spending a long summer night coursing through the pine barrens of Virginia, with the rolling bass of Swamp Song to guide me. Coca Cola slurpees at one o'clock in the morning to fuel my excitement, and the sun to gild my skin like it used to do as a child.
That's all I want in life, I guess. Fair weather and private moments, to guide me from one moment to the next. Finer things and simple pleasures pass the moments easily, and just the recollection of my finest moments still serve to help me when I'm mired in the worst times. I suppose I want to acquit myself well in the name of mankind; that once my glory has long faded, and all I have is stories of days passed to sustain me, I want to be wealthy in memories of the everyday wonder I've experienced.
Beautiful, cool, lavishly green afternoons in the park, when I have no doubt what I want in life. Bitter cold winter evenings, when my family has left me to ward our home over Christmas, and I sleep on the living room floor in front of a roaring fire, like I've watched my dogs do with minor jealousy for all of my life. Seeing something so vast and blue, with sand between my toes, and a family as whole as my youthful heart, back in a simpler, happy life. Listening to Don McLean in my parent's bathroom, over and over, until my father was sick of it. Walking on the dunes late at night with my family, back when I was still creating my identity. Shows in Philadelphia with my sister, or nights at the diner, when snow falls like it does in movies, slow and fat in slowly growing circles. Lazy afternoons at home, when my mother dated Ray Brannagh. New Year's at Jim's and our repetitive but childish antics fueled with alcohol, cold weather, and good cheer. Having a beer at the Pub with Carrie, when our easy conversation float the hours by, and I'm left feeling sated at the night's end.
It's those moments when I'm at the center of the life I want to live. When I'm deep in that sweet center of the fruit which is the result of the life I've lead. I'm not saying I'm perfect, because the idea is laughable. I've done nothing but get my hands dirty, though I must say I've done my best to live and honest life. And I value the way I've been. Still, there's a lot I'd give up to be eighteen and spending a long summer night coursing through the pine barrens of Virginia, with the rolling bass of Swamp Song to guide me. Coca Cola slurpees at one o'clock in the morning to fuel my excitement, and the sun to gild my skin like it used to do as a child.
That's all I want in life, I guess. Fair weather and private moments, to guide me from one moment to the next. Finer things and simple pleasures pass the moments easily, and just the recollection of my finest moments still serve to help me when I'm mired in the worst times. I suppose I want to acquit myself well in the name of mankind; that once my glory has long faded, and all I have is stories of days passed to sustain me, I want to be wealthy in memories of the everyday wonder I've experienced.