Waterlogged {gone fishing}

I vaguely remember being a social creature. Roaming with a pack through the city streets. The weather is warming up and the days are getting longer. I hear sounds of life outside the walls of my house. The backfiring of a tailpipe at 2am while I am trying to sleep triggers the recollection of days gone passed. The problem with these memories is that real time only moves in one direction. All we have left are the vague memories of biking into the sunset and staying up all night. My wild pack is now scattered across the world; some trapped in cubicles, some struggling with a home life, some on the run, some stuck in Milwaukee. Either my broken memory is taking a toll on my relationships or I feel myself growing away from the life of a pack that hunts together for new opportunities. The springing sounds of nightlife have woken me up and I have decided to quit the race.

I patched the hole in the bottom of the boat that has been decaying on the side of my garage and I set off to the center of the water. It is calm and quiet out in the middle and the sunshine on my closed eyelids. The deep cobalt blue water meets the gradient of white turning to bird’s egg blue sky and I toss out my lines to that crisp horizon line. Into the darkness my bait goes. I kick up my feet with a newfound confidence of not worrying about what the next opportunity may bring. Blessed with a memory full of darkness, I have no regrets holding me back from the darkness of what the future may hold.