There is this wide, open space not but a few blocks from here, which is bordered by tall shade trees and a slow-moving creek. It is lovely and cool there, and someplace incredibly nice to be. I escape to that place when the grooves of the worn city streets are too much for me to bare, their monotonous paths etched into me leaving scars which I cannot ever forget.
I like to witness the creek as it meanders through the urban sprawl, pretending that I am somewhere else much farther away from everything. As much as I wish that creek were able to free me from this life that is ever weighing me down, it is anything but away from anything, and in fact, it is dead center in the middle of the chaos. People walking by break the spell. The rumble of passing cars makes me wince. Nothing here is only mine and mine alone, and that is the hardest part.
I never wade in the creek, nor touch my toes into the water; I only wander along its banks as it curves and weaves and bubbles green over the rocks with algae. I'm fully aware that this place is not what I wish it would be, but I keep piling my hopes upon it just the same. I cling to it. I cling and cling and cling and get lost and dreamy just to soothe all of these aches. The idea of it is too enticing to let go of, for without so much of the idea of it, I really have absolutely nothing at all...
