westley

There's a cold rain blowing - blurring the lights of the cityscape, twisting infinite diamond-star speckled patterns off into a random nighttime heartbreak. Technology gives the bridges meaning as "nowhere" struggles to become "somewhere" and choppy black waters pound out a sullen undulation of emptiness - a weird, dreamy reminder that the only thing permanent is how temporary everything is - just cycle and fade - cycle and fade - cycle and fade - one and zero - on and off - you know the drill. My essence is calling out lost - raked over the coals by the absence of her presence - that giant nowhere feeling that only big cities in the rain seem to understand - the void of the metropolis at night - that feeling that can only be illustrated by this walk through this dark parking lot with my clothes wet and my glasses blurred by an endless stream of rain that "seems to fall out of pure nothingness". She was here, but then she wasn't and I continued to turn and tell her everything that I'd normally tell her, only now, nobody's listening and I just look crazy - just another dead figure, haunting city streets in the middle of a catastrophic downpour and the meaning is lost.

But I swear I was alive - I swear I stood here, in this very spot, staring at these very buildings, looking at this exact same river, staring at that exact same nighttime sky, while she was breathing beside me and I was breathing beside her amidst a hot chemical reaction that caused our thoughts to overlap and our times to overlap and our spaces to overlap and our lives to overlap - she was real and she was soft and she was warm and my hands fit smooth in the center of her back - a quiet comfort in the still of the night when there was no such thing as time and work and society and responsibility - there was just an eternal "now" comprised of talking and whispering and camping all scrunched up in a secret tent on a couch just before dawn - a defiant refusal to acknowledge the persistence of time. There was the smell of her perfume and the taste of her skin and the feel of her body in the middle of the night. There was the sound of her laughing and the look of her smiling and the feel of her body in the middle of the day. There was the brilliant deadpan joke-loop that works here and works there and works everywhere. There was coffee and there was candy. There were movies and there was TV. There was the mutual hatred of internet slang. There was the mutual love of the "good" part of the day. There was sleeping and there was waking. There was solitude and there was peace. There was the death of the past. There was hope for the future.

There was always tomorrow.