Nostalgia

Nostalgia


Despite eternity of immortality, my time is bound, limited,
set by cyclic necessity.  In theory I could hunt and feed
underground.  A spectre of subways, subterranean bars,
parking garages, except for ever present complication
of observant by-passers.  I am comfortable to hunt
nocturnally in open air where I easily fade into shadow,
without notice.  For any who might for a moment perceive
peripheral flicker, most likely I was never even there.
Early day, shortly beyond dawn, this monster’s conscious
daymares enjoy free torment.  Nameless faces, faceless
voices without connection, no thread to cut.  They mock me
in enforced stillness of my physical, ironic metaphysical, cage.
Alone in my hour of madness, no reason to hide in.
Autumn’s approach in my senses pulls consciousness to
rationality, reason to be sane.
She is relieved to arrive, at last safe to open freely to feelings
closed against public glare and blare.
I warn her of inklings that this place may be returning to private
ownership, which would bar my entrance.  I am alert to find
alternative hide-out.  I will share forwarding address when I
do, soon.  While our time here narrows, we prepare for changing
circumstance.
We sprawl on craftily luxurious pillows facing up to ceiling, quiet,
pensive, nostalgic in anticipation.
Slowly, Autumn’s voice reaches to spin out a story.  The ceiling
imaginatively transforms into cinematic kaleidoscope revealed from
her vision to mine.
“A shining gold colored line of rope, soft as angora, stronger than steel,
falls through a secret, camouflaged opening in the ceiling.  You grab
hold, carry me, as it carefully wraps around us.  Once we are secure, we
are strongly pulled upward, swinging and thrilled like a carnival ride.
The ceiling, as we fall upward through it, leads not as expected to the
next floor of this old building, but to a grand, celestial ballroom, enclosed
against sunlight.  Enchanting music played by a magical orchestra
fills the room.  Low light from star-shaped candles reveals magnificent
shadow sculptures, flickering shapes that seem to dance as they morph
into crazy symbolic formations.
Over several moments they appear ever clearer, seem to emote
silently.  We are led to understand that these are friendly sprites from
a nearby dimension.  They have brought us here to play with them
because we are such amazing energy that they could feel us across
dimensions.  They want us to stay, their honored guests.  They want us
to be made so happy that we will love them, never leave.”
She drifts upward, bringing me with her.  She glides us around the room,
smiling pleasantries to our adoring hosts.
This too will be a memory, as real as any special time among friends.