Crowded Souls

Image result for street clock

The feeling was headlong. It was like a vertical river rushing madly into some subterranean sea. That’s how I felt about the distance between her and I.

It felt stupid. It was like I wanted to meld into the girl. The stupid stupid girl with the wheat colored hair.

She of course could have been any girl or any friend or any of the dead that are the subject of longing.

But in that moment. In the cool breeze of evening with the amber autumn playing round me I was completely staggered.

The crunching of the leaves beneath my feet would never happen again. The old style clock on the corner of the sidewalk would turn just that way but this once. And then heaven or hell or who cares whatever finality there is still the now, noW, NOW.

I watched the faces of the fools, beauties, monsters, and saints behind their various windshields. Ensconced in mobile armor they regarded me in turn with the curiosity that a pedestrian comes to expect from the chronically commuting.

Such a perfect evening and my head so full of lovely things to say. Yet tonight I couldn’t see her. Couldn’t find her. Then when another evening comes I won’t have these things to say. I’ll be different. It’s always so.

Some Saxon shot me a condescending look as I rounded one of the churches littering the streets like discarded alien gloves pointing to a rose hued sky. I paused abruptly. And just looked with a blank expression at the driver. It was a favorite trick.

The cocky grin turned to confusion and I felt the silver SUV zip past. Cheap thrills for him and I.

Was he smirking because he knew that I’d return to a well appointed home but be unable to enjoy a single thing? All my books, and instruments, all my notes and papers would be of no avail to stop the sucking pain of being away from her for THIS one evening.

My victory now seeming hollow I increased my walking rate. But not so as to seem to feel too hurried. The phone in my pocket might ring. But if it did and it was her. Who cares? I don’t want to see the one person I want to see.

Doesn’t she understand that we will never happen again? Don’t any of these people understand that? Immortal souls or not. These souls. The souls of NOW will never happen again, and we just let our petals fall; till wilted in the end of some future evening, we go to ground, wondering where all the scattered parts now lie!

We crowded souls longing to fall into one another but ever slipping past like wet elusive drops of ocean.

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