- Books, Literature, and Writing
A Dark Street Through the Trees
It is 1 a.m. and bitter-cold. I stepped outside into the darkness, the cold stinging my face. I pulled the collar of my coat up to cover my ears. As I look down the street, the roadside adorned with huge Maples and Poplar trees, I light my cigarette. The taste is wonderful and fills me with a false sense of peace. Step with me into My world. A world seen through depression that never seems to truly go away. It simply hides itself under the shadow of a smiling man, waiting to come out, with no warning, no reason, simply because...
The sky is very dark tonight, almost a hue of purple more than black. A single light shines through the leaves of the trees in front of my house. The leaves, un-willing to fall from the branches that have fed and nourished them for 3 seasons, blow in the breeze that has made it's presence known by nipping at my ears and nose. The leaves sound like the rise and fall of families cheering at a high school football game, changing from loud to quieting and back to loud again. The rustling of the leaves that have fallen to the ground, adding to the chill that is already with me.
In the shadows of beauty that is mine to behold, the moon-light peeking through the leaves each time the wind blows, it disappears into the darkness, almost as quickly as it came. The light looks like the beacon from a Lighthouse, flashing through the trees and then off again. It captivates me and I soak in all of it's beauty for as long as I can. It reflects off the back window of a car parked in the alley across the street from me. The leaves illuminate for just a moment, their colors visible for just a moment and then... darkness again.
Though my mind often takes me to dark places, places that are Not beautiful and do not remind me of anything wonderful, I steal this moment and hug it to my soul, warming my insides for as long as my mind will allow. And then, the very essence that was beautiful just a second ago is now wrapped in the memories of times gone by. My thoughts begin to race as they always do when I am trying to enjoy a moment of peace. The reality of the disorder that haunts my every good thought, crashes down on me, like the leaves still hanging on the Maples. They know as does my mind, that as hard as they may try to hold on to the warmth and the protection of the tree, sooner or later the bitter cold and the harsh winds Will blow them away from the safety of the tree and spin them to the ground.
The "wind" that is my thoughts, spirals my smiles and warmth to the ground and strips me of the warmth that they were. I think about all fo the seasons that have passed and the love and memories of past lives. A mind like mine simply doesn't get the luxury of smiles with out the explosion of sadness and guilt and pain, rushing in to steal it away, the same as the wind steals the leaves grip on the trees. This is my world. A world of never, ever forgetting a single love or hurt or pain or sorrow. A world some call bipolar or manic... I simply call it My world.
Now quietly finishing my smoke, eyes stinging not just from the cold anymore, I lower my face as if to give acknowledgement to the "Winds" of remembrance, feeling my past quietly seeping in to leave me silent. The darkness of the street, the coldness of the night wind is my companion inside. I snuff out my smoke, wishing I could just see beauty and love, minus the sadness. I pull my coat up over my ears and go back inside to write, for writing is my peace.