{Some old writing from when I was younger. A piece about the past.}
Smoke bellows outward
in a plume from parted lips
and rolls off my arms in a loving caress.
As I lower my hand from my mouth
and gaze at the stars
I am brought into a catalyzing train of thought.
As the domino's of the past
experiences collapse in my mind
I reach a dusty black box
i put away long ago
in the innermost regions of my brain.
Upon looking at the box
I see in gold letters, "do not open"
On the surface. I inhale once more
a drag most satisfying.
I exhale and gaze at the black box.
As I stare at the stars I am happy in this moment.
All tragedy's and shortcomings,
problems and obstructions
in my path seem to breath themselves calmly out of existence,
as I once did.
I am happy in this moment.
The horizon does not end
for those crafted of the infinite,
and the sun never sets in a perpetuating sky.
I create myself instead of searching.
For reality is not repeating itself,
rather it's extending toward nothing
and everything at once.
It is one and all.
It is black and white
and it follows no pattern or circumference.
I inhale once more.
grind the embers of my cigarette into the surface of the box,
and exhale.
Dwelling not on anything
but the short life I have left to live
with each breath.
I watch the embers die out,
and leave.