There was a time when we were all playwrights, and all the world could shine and shineeee, on—ward into the skies of our rafters and our rooftop laughters.
We’d stomp booted feet on old, worn, soft - beautifully beat hardwood floors - that creaked - and we… Well we danced upon ourselves and our discovery of all of that. We danced and shouted - for bloody volume of the night - the right and good of it all then.
The world blossoming and the words following — from onto stage the next day and back again — because we were Company. We were bred and we were lead into our inner workings, our inner demons, our inner joys - whether they were fleeting, or the truest nature I’ll still never knew.
But there I know you.
There I know the vague wild dreams of who I could be — back when it could be a journey you’d say you’d go on, and then you’d go another way.
In all the ways it twisted round the happiness…. and happy wasn’t it? That was it. I’ve only just remembered it.
Remembered not the place but the who, and me, that I was right then in that place - dream up to be - it’s getting closer. The pages have sure as those flown by and - wow - look around at what we’ve seen.
You and me inside my head, the then and now and childhood and adult - and how that decade does commit.
The stories how they changed, the eyes and wears, and the wrinkles forming there upon your sight — war struck and still going, and the devastating desert of awhile, but I can see.
The world upon which we built our thoughts, and our fashion and our everything - it can be seen.
What was once a roar, yes. is now a whisper but so it does whisper… it’s gone from haunting demon, or fickle friend - to ah, lover once again. Whisper upon our pages in our places and let us be players once again.
. . .
