Miami muse

Miami. Land of giants. Minds that bob back and forth from work to school to work and again. Every warm night, the sweat sticks to our eyebrows, runs down the invisible lines of our faces. Living here so many years was like being a zombie. And now, again.

Some nights, I drive around in the car just to smell the breeze blowing. It's better just before dusk. Though, I don't know what I'm doing. I have to remind myself to stay grounded, stay steady, stay focused. There are too many things to take my focus here. For one, my high school. Wandering there like a ghost that passed away five years ago. How I want to go see it. Every day I think: why can't I just pass by? Just for a moment? One second? But, one second gives way to many more.

So does one thought.

The other day I get a friend request on my facebook from a stranger. A man I haven't seen in a few years. Doesn't matter. He's history. But his memory, like Miami, is not. So I pace around my old green room and wonder and wonder why this ghost has suddenly reappeared. What does he want? What should I do? Keep my head on straight. Maybe I should read something inspiring. Maybe that won't help. It's not so much him, its the thought that he's not fake. None of it was. None of my past. Everything was real. It really happened. It's still blowing out there somewhere.

Mostly, I spend my days here avoiding. Too many people and too many memories. They're dark. Dark, black and real. I don't care what anybody says. They affect me.