Those Days Are Gone

Along the western cliffs there is a lighthouse, a beacon silently shouting illuminative warnings to all who approach from sea. I had no umbrella by design. A little wet, all wet; it made no difference. Misery loves company, and today’s guest was Melancholy.

The bench was perfect in width for the spreading of arms to accommodate my companions. Broad shoulders allowed plenty of room for Misery and Melancholy to rest their familiar heads, and close enough to hear Rachmaninov’s Piano Concerto No. 2 in C minor playing through earbuds.

What might appear as a stoic man resting in the rain, was instead a weary and defeated soul, wondering where hope had gone. I imagined hope as the occupant of a small boat, for there wasn’t much left, tossed in the churning waves. Would I dive into the violent seas to save all that was left, or allow it to wash with the whitewater, lost forever?

That girl sneaked through my mind every day in little ways. Dreams were themed, but in different settings. There was interaction, which is a good sign, right? I never wondered why it didn’t work – I knew only that my heart had been politely handed back along with my hat. The promise was that all she’d need to do is ask me to leave, and I would, with no questions asked.

It was by far the most difficult promise to keep, but I have maintained​ that vow. You see, I always believed hearts were worth fighting for, the misconception being that battles were to be waged after decisions had been made. My stand took place prior, with no inkling of an impending demise; that book of poetry, disappearing into a foggy, romantic chasm.

It wasn’t his fault that squelch control was unmoderated. I was quiet in person, but when descending that slippery slope toward love, it wasn’t at a tumble, it was at a trot. This character trait got me in trouble very quickly; the sort of trouble often dooming romantic hearts.

I sat in the car, staring at the vacant bench I had occupied moments earlier, my dedicated muses, Misery and Melancholy now in the back seat. The percussive symphony of rain on glass lulled me into a tilt-shift trance, leaving me simply to appreciate the few recent and decent memories.

But those days were gone.

This piece is almost 40 minutes long, and is from where Eric Carmen borrowed some notes for All By Myself. It is worth every minute of your time.


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