We live life and its similar to walking along an avenue.
Some streets are crowded whiles others are seemingly deserted. Some streets are filled with restaurants, cafes and taverns. Music playing, people laughing and its forever 70 degrees and clear. A moon spreads its light while the stars pulsate with the rhthym of the gaiety below.
Other streets are filled with ghosts from a past that has long been forgotten. A mom and pop store on the corner of Bleeker and 1st still sells Root Beer Floats and New York Style Egg Creams for 99 cents. The old folk go there for the coffee, cigarettes and the morning newspaper. They walk in silence and at night there is no moon, just some shooting stars.
Other streets have some diners or some picnic areas where the parents take the children and the children play together.
The time passes and we find ourselves tiring with each passing block until each step is laborious and painful.
Still we march on with just a glance behind us every once in a while just to make sure there is nothing getting close to us from behind.
We accumulate a lot of stuff along the way; broken bones, hearts and lives. Soveniers from the time spent walking, maybe a rock or two and some sticks. We count the stars at night and we promise the moon to our lovers only to settle for a drawing or a sweet kiss goodnight.
We walk, we celebrate life, we fall in love and we fall out just as fast. We let each other down – the pedastal can be a dangerous place to stand. We sing songs, we read psalms and we philosphise about life and the Avenues surrounding us.
We jump up, we fall down and we run. We trip, skip and flip sometimes just to change the pace, change our moods or just to cause a breeze to blow.
The earth shakes and the sky screams – tears and ashes as the pain persists. On the avenue we see acts of violence for no reason at all. The tears and the ashes continue to fall.
We dream, we wake up and our dreams are gone in a flash.
We dare to dream while awake and end up being criticized or condemned as lazy.
This avenue is littered with the limbs and shards of glass from broken dreams, broken hearts and voids that can dwarf any sinkhole. The pulsating void felt within our gut, within our heart and in our minds can not be filled with anything but scar tissue. Scar tissue which confirms that events did take place and that life does go on.
We walk along this avenue, this boulevard, this lonesome road; alone, despite any company or loved ones by our side – we will walk to our own beat, sing and dance to our own tunes and jump, skip and hop to ourselves be true.
Soveniers, matchbooks and postcards may fade away – but the experiences we have accumulated along this walk, along this life has become our scar tissue that we will wear in pride and determination.