49: On an Afternoon

On an afternoon such as this,
with only the contrails crossing the sky,
On a day long ago I'd be outside on the run,
Keeping myself out of trouble yet falling into it just the same.
When I got older, I'd be inside, listening and planning,
A revolutionary in my head, waiting for the right moment.
When I left, I'd be out all night, walking the streets
With nothing but the music that kept me going.
When I returned, I drove around aimlessly,
Cigarette in hand and a long list of grievances.

Years later and I'm sitting here in this back room,
Within spitting distance of the Golden Gate Bridge,
Very little unresolved but nearly everything in process.
I'm here, I'm in the present, not looking forward or back in time,
Not longing for what I should have done or what I can never be.
On an afternoon such as this,
I can see that everything's only temporary.
The contrails will fade and the fog will roll in,
The night will return with the cold and salty air,
And the only constant thing is myself, here and now.

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