There are memories I have. I swear. I was young once. Wild too, and I was crazy in the best ways possible. I was eager and afraid. And I remember. I remember the ideas and the thoughts and the cravings which came over me like a wave as it falls across the shore.

I remember some of my drives, long ago. I remember driving over the 59th Street Bridge. The Big City. And there she was. New York, New York. She is bright like a dream and complete with every urge or desire. She is complete with every idea or every kink or fetish.

And hey, don’t judge. Or don’t knock it, until you try it. You never know.

I remember driving over the bridge at night, alone, and about to head into the city. I was young. I swear I was. Or maybe this is only a memory. Or maybe my memories are all liars and none of this happened. Maybe this happened to someone else. Or maybe I misremember too often. Maybe this more like a story I saw or something I heard and somehow, I assumed myself as the main character —but then again, if I was the author or if the script were up to me, then I suppose I’d have been the hero more times than I was the villain. I’d have been the love interest instead of the odd man out. And if I were the author, I’m sure that I’d have been more beautiful than I am in the flesh. At minimum, I know that I’d have been the hero. Or then again, maybe there are times when the villain is the hero and the right to stand up or the need to rise and rebel is enough to ignite the fire within.

Maybe we all need to be the villain every once in a while. Maybe the saying is true, Being bad feels pretty good. (you know?)

There are things and times and moments to which I have felt and lived to see. And some of these thing are like one and only sunsets or sunrises that could never be matched or duplicated. Some of my best memories are wasted; however, because life revealed itself and the lies came to light, in which case, the impurities showed that truth was absent. And therefore, so was the glimmer. I have risen from ashes more than once. And no one can take these from me. I have victories than no one can tarnish However, age seems to let these things fall behind and grow more distant than years that have gone by.

Ah, my city. You have never abandoned me. You never rejected me. You have seen me since my days of confusion. You have been with me when I felt brave enough to explore. And you have shown me things to let me know that no matter how dead things may appear; something about me is really alive. My city – You’ve always seemed to know when I needed you most because no matter how wild or crazy or even unfortunate the wheels began to turn, you would always show me something beautiful. Like, say for example, the way sunrise looks as it comes over The East River and reflects against the tall budlings on the Eastside of Midtown Manhattan. I was thinking about my time over at 71-48 58th Avenue. That was lifetimes ago. But I lived there. I did. . .

Have you ever felt the chill from a snowflake as is fell on your cheek from the sky? Have you ever seen Rockefeller Center when the Christmas tree is lit up? Have you ever sat in a coffee shop in Midtown by the window during a mid-winter’s day? I have. I was there when the snowfall was light, but the flurries were heavy enough to make the pedestrians on Broadway look like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting. This was an afternoon in my md to late twenties. I was writing in a postcard to send down to my Mother. She never really saw who I grew into.

I swear, I know this was real. Or was it? Was this all a dream? Or is this just life and life is only a dream to which, we actually wake up when we finally fall asleep? Who knows . . . I don’t know. Maybe no one knows. Not the Angels of Heaven. Not even The Son. Only The Father knows. or, so I was told.

There was a time. I know there was a time. I had a time. I really did.

There was a time before now and there was a time before, “before,” to which I wish that I could get back to, at least for a minute. I want to feel that way again. I want to find myself, like I used to, and above all; I want to stand behind my youthful shield which I chose to call bravery, —and still, I am unsure if I was brave or too young to understand what happens after the accumulation of disappointments.

Who knew that life would grow or time would add like it did? Who knew the casualties we’d face?

No one knows how their path turns or where the unexpectedness takes them, —and so nothing would ever be unexpected if we knew. And if we knew, then I suppose we would never fall, or least of all; no one would ever fall out of love. Not ever. And sure . . . Life is unknown or perhaps life is only unexplored, which is why I want to get back to my life before now. I want my “before” which took place before the downfalls or before the betrayals, or before the downfalls burned me to the ground and before I learned how hard it is or how much it hurt just to get back up.

Maybe heaven is more of a feeling. Maybe Heaven is more like the wild satisfaction I felt when life was easier, or simple. Maybe . . . or maybe not

Maybe the best has yet to come and something is about to happen. Maybe all of this is only around the corner. And all is about to change, as if my next chapter will open me up to a brand new life and thus, I will find myself somewhere in the company of Angels on Earth. Maybe. Or so I hope. I want to be “there” I want to go where heroes smile at me, as if to say” Where’ve you been?” or “What took you so long to get here?”

And yes, I admit this. I want her. I want her as she is. full, thick, curvy, and beautiful beyond compare – thicker than peanut butter and twice as tasty.

I lost myself more than once. Or in fact, I lost myself countlessly or endlessly, which is why I am trying so hard to find myself. Or if anything at all; I need to redefine myself and get back to the core or the root of my chaos, which is not chaotic or crazy in a bad way. No. On the contrary. I want to get back to my truth, which is honest and pure, which is free from doubt or discouragement and free from deceit, free from betrayal, and free from the modern casualties that created my jaded assumptions. I want to get back to the drive for more because I want more, which is fine if more is less. And I’m fine with less as long as this means I have not compromised my desire for more. I want to get back. I want to get away from everything that led me down the course of constant disbelief.

God, please– let me find me again. let me get back to my “before” or before, before. Please.

I want to feel that feeling. I want to enjoy the freshness. I want to find her beneath me with me leaking out of her, dripping, because she and I, or us, or we; no one else in the world could combine like us as a combination. No one. . .

I was young once. I swear I was. I was hopeful. I was eager to feel, or to taste, or try. I wanted to see what my city could show me. I want to feel the justice in my spirit.

I wanted to enjoy the wildness or to explore, even from a sexual standpoint. I was anxious to taste, touch, feel, and experience the way it was to walk through Central Park with a beautiful girl. I have always wanted this. To walk and feel as if there was no one else in the world—and even if there was someone else in the world, I could see them as little characters who entertain the background for substance, —because in the end, or otherwise, no one else mattered because no one else existed. (except for her, my girl)

God, I am so sorry for letting go I am sorry that I never learned how to be “me” or how to hold on and show what it was like to be the other way around, and be loving instead of deceptive.

I had heard that youth is wasted on the young. And I suppose I was too young to understand what this meant. Of course, I was.

I am not so old that I cannot feel desire and nor have my taste for excitement faded or dwindled away. Not at all. And above all, I swear that my purpose is clear. I swear that I know what I want. And should the path open up or should the page turn and I find myself on the great plateau of some new kind of Heaven, then I will dig my toes in as deep as they go so that I can feel the Earth beneath me.

I will savor this and enjoy every second because although I understand that time is infinite; I am finite and so is my time to learn to endure and enjoy life in the flesh

Only the fleshless are timeless. Only the spirit lives on. Only my dreams will never die, and therefore, my aim is to get back to the way I was before. This is when my dreams were more brilliant than the sun and more exciting than a midnight drive over the 59th Street Bridge.

There was a time before the interrogation. There was a time before I failed under questioning. There was a time before now, and before the incarceration took place. There was a time before, when it was fine to dare or dream or to risk the question and ask a girl to dance. . .

I was young once. I swear I was. And even if I was never young. I swear that one day, I will be young again if not young for the first time.

I thought too deeply and worried too often and risked too little. That was my problem. Or worse, I see how often we tried to “play it safe” rather than take the risk. And I swear. I promise. I’ll never allow myself to do that again.

If the time comes and I am given the chance once more, I am going to grab this opportunity and hold it tighter than I did when I was handed my first kite string as a kid, —so we can fly.

I don’t know when it was – the last time I flew a kite or felt free enough to do so, but if I had one or bought one and if we found the time would you run with me?

so we could make it fly –