BIG FLIGHT DELAYS

The night air is the resistance air, the release of the hypocrite day's thank-you-no-thank-you's and maybe-yes-maybe's. This is pressure-pipe urgency. All of the uselessness and all of the passiveness gone in one very swift shade of very black ink. I'd ride downtown aimlessly all of the time. Walking and walking, staring and staring, hoping to find eyes that--like mine--were screaming in silence. I, wanting to fight, and the night, wanting to swallow me whole before the light re-arrived. And not until now did I realize that all of those nights were the call of the wild, the adventure inside. And now, rather than staring, my eyes they are blazing. Now, rather than walking, my legs they are running, running and running. My body is catapulting. Over fences and into windows, out of apartments and into tunnels, running and streaking, embracing momentum because this isn't some kind of poetry or fantasy story, this is my life! This is my life and it is full of vigor, anarchy, and opportunity. In the midst of my very own fire I have begun to realize that I am not the observer, but rather, the writer of the story of my very own life.