better

Passionate epitaphs have always been my thing.  I forget about the moments leading up to the death, forgetting the troubles, the sins, the anger, the mistrust, all of it.

A symphony of words release themselves from my vocal cords, heart felt, but misguided; confused, but still true.  I’m finding myself in a place where I remember the past, a place where I see troubles in the beginning and I screen them out.  I feel a more contemplative me who is more interested in what the situation was composed of rather than how the situation ended.  My heart is filled with so many things, mailbox presents, blindfolded cupcake dates and kenituars.  Outstanding moments are just that, outstanding.  I want moments that aren’t outliers.  I want every embrace, every smile, every joke and every tear to be as incredible as the last.  It’s a lot to ask but there have been surprisingly few let downs.

My life is good.  My life is new.  My life is dynamic.  My life is… mine.

That felt really good to type.

“I am prepared for amazing things to happen.  I can handle it.”

Oblivious as he usually seemed, Dave knew what he was doing most of the time but he liked to sit back and see the movements of others. Dave had met the girl accidentally in passing and knew her type, the way she treated people and the way she cleverly stuffed chocolates in-between her fingers to attract starving people. It was cruel but fun to watch. He had known her for about 10 years now, they had become good friends, never anything more, mostly because of his knowledge of the situation, he liked to keep a backed off perspective to keep things… safe. They were very clearly compatible but he kind of liked keeping her at a distance because it was nice to control someone who controlled so many others, it kind of made Dave feel above people who he normally felt below.

Jonah was her name, it was really beautiful but he always thought of it more as a guy’s name. They spent weekends together climbing mountains and during the week when they both worked they liked to see midnight films and afterward catch up with the interesting people who hung out in neighboring diners. The time they spent together was pure gold and the time they spent apart was the same. Unfortunately it was too normal for both of them, so they stopped talking.

The criminal darted out from behind the back of the building, looked both way and ran into the dark of the night.

It was a lovely night. The moon was out though it could hardly be seen through the dense mist and city lights. City lights that obscured everything. There was a couple leaning against a car, whispering to one another and occasionally kissing (”Oh how happy we are”). There was a drunk man walking around mumbling things which could not be understood by anyone, maybe not even him. He held his arms out and beckoned for something, who knows what (”Oh how sad I am”). There was a beautiful girl, walking down the street with eyes made of solid granite and clothes which fit her perfectly looking up at a loft high above. She was observing the furniture and interior of the loft, astonished by the decadence and style of the layout (”Oh how lucky they are”). There was a young boy walking down the street, listening to his music, eyes glued to the ground; contemplating. He counted every step he took and fiddled with something of a square shape in his pocket (”Oh how distracted I am”). There was an older gentleman sitting under an umbrella in front of a cafe which had been closed for hours, sipping occasionally on a cup of tea and reading a book by an obscure author. Casually he would look at these people and think to himself, “Oh how wonderful we are.”

Pity that no one could offer an answer.

Storm clouds and strange weather formations are usually frightful news to birds, airplanes, really anything that spends a lot of time up in the air. These two birds, however absolutely loved to dart up and down through the arcus clouds. They loved to dip and dive through the most ominous of forming condensation funnels. Danger was something that not only did they find they loved, but they loved together.

How could this story possibly have a positive outcome? Two daredevils who spent their time flashing their underbellies at monsters that could consume them at any moment. The very ether that they perch so lightly on with their delicate wings could strike them down like a baker shop owner shaking the crumbs off of his well traveled welcome mat. Well this story does not end well, but I’ll tell you how it did, finally, end.

On one fantastically windy day near the banks of Lake Michigan the little red chickadee while looking for windy pockets high in the atmosphere found a cloud which was so dense and so powerful that he had to challenge it. He screamed to the other, “Come play with me in this deep pillow, come dive into these fierce and wicked winds!”

Naturally the other, a beautiful sparrow with deep blue feathers that cast the pouring rain off as though they were made of steel, came immediately and seeing the immense size of this cloud he nearly lost his balance with excitement. Together they entered the cloud, pushing hard off a wind gust which was so strong it could almost be mistaken for solid ground. As they passed through the outer layer of the cloud the red chickadee lost sight of the shimmering blue of his friend, he called out but strangely heard no call back.

As it so happens this was not the blue sparrow’s day, immediately after entering the cloud he had gotten cocky and tried to perform a beautiful spin in the cloud. He knew how the little red chickadee loved seeing him rotate smoothly through the strong gusts of wind. Unfortunately just as he started the maneuver directly in front of him was a terrible pocket of wind which tossed and threw him, bending back several of his feathers which were crucial to his flight.

Obviously he fell immediately and by the time the red chickadee’s cry reached him he was coming down hard in the shallow waters near the banks of the lake. Due to the high wind that day with the second wave that hit him, he was crushed against the jagged stones which lined the banks of Lake Michigan. This was the last cloud that the red chickadee ever flew in and every time he sees other birds daring the clouds he yells to them and complains. He warns them that even the air that you trust can strike you down, even the thing that seems to keep you afloat can backfire, reducing you to nothing more than a stone, falling hard where ever it might choose to throw you.