Running to the Heavens
It was the night after my friends have left from a night of drunken revelry. Yes that sentence did have too many nights and it suits me fine. For now I pray for more nights. More stars. More of the airy feeling when I look up and find myself to be a part of something big.
On that night I didn't want to stay home, my friends' voices haunted the halls and their footsteps trod in the shadows. I pulled into lose pants, shirt and rubbershoes and pumped the ground away from the house that had suddenly become so silent, desolate, wanting poetry.
I did not care much for poetry that night. I hit the road repeatedly, in time with the trance music thumping in my ears. Past houses, perturbed dogs, and old man's thoughts. It was 9 o'clock on a Saturday and the village streets were lulled to sleep by the cool wind of December.
I entered streets, weaved in and out of passages and then I was on a hill, and then I found out I was lost, and then... that I found Happy in the oscurra. The village grew, was growing. I was on a hill with but one house braving the darkness, beyond that are trees of deceiving numbers, hoping to instill fear in the hearts of the moneyed homeless. These trees took darkness in their arms and sang to it. I looked out from the hill, down to the trees, further down to the lighted city, twirling dots of color, gleam and gloom. I looked up beyond that solitary house's roof and found the celestials shine kindly on me.
I'd like to think that for a moment the stars took notice of me, an infinitely small and blunt dot staring adoringly at them.
After rounding the hill twice I am once again lost. I ran having no other options and knowing that I couldn't possibly be lost inside my own village.
At home I promised to run the same route the following day and noted that I should bring a camera. I have yet to come back to that hill. But I still have the stars in my memory, and Happy still hovers near.
On that night I didn't want to stay home, my friends' voices haunted the halls and their footsteps trod in the shadows. I pulled into lose pants, shirt and rubbershoes and pumped the ground away from the house that had suddenly become so silent, desolate, wanting poetry.
I did not care much for poetry that night. I hit the road repeatedly, in time with the trance music thumping in my ears. Past houses, perturbed dogs, and old man's thoughts. It was 9 o'clock on a Saturday and the village streets were lulled to sleep by the cool wind of December.
I entered streets, weaved in and out of passages and then I was on a hill, and then I found out I was lost, and then... that I found Happy in the oscurra. The village grew, was growing. I was on a hill with but one house braving the darkness, beyond that are trees of deceiving numbers, hoping to instill fear in the hearts of the moneyed homeless. These trees took darkness in their arms and sang to it. I looked out from the hill, down to the trees, further down to the lighted city, twirling dots of color, gleam and gloom. I looked up beyond that solitary house's roof and found the celestials shine kindly on me.
I'd like to think that for a moment the stars took notice of me, an infinitely small and blunt dot staring adoringly at them.
After rounding the hill twice I am once again lost. I ran having no other options and knowing that I couldn't possibly be lost inside my own village.
At home I promised to run the same route the following day and noted that I should bring a camera. I have yet to come back to that hill. But I still have the stars in my memory, and Happy still hovers near.
posted by mavicity at
2:56 PM
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