Ashes and Fire

Do you see that? I asked and pointed at the east. It is dawn. He laughed at my sentiment; we parted ways as I continued giddily toward the blueing skies of morning. That is the magic of May, every time and it never gets old.

The songs streamed through my brain, such an odd venue and such a nervous crowd but the songs carried on unabated, reminded me of the American night, of the religion of music, of the undying delight of passion. They say you can't feel all the time, I scribbled in my notebook as he changed guitars, What do they know? A life without being overwhelmed is no life.

Ten years ago I sat in a cramped and dark apartment, listened to that song and decided my life would be more than that, decided I would run off and see the world, decided I would accept and love the melancholy. Last night I listened to that song and agreed to do it some more. He doesn't know it, but I owe him my convictions.

I have to live that way,
I wrote.
I don't know any other.