Young Writers Society

never really understood what it meant to walk around my town until I left it.

My shoes seemed to grip the ground more when I came back than they had ever before.

Hometown alignment.

The road bent at the right angle and sided with the chance for someone to get to where they were going. Desolate rows of houses sat still in comatose. Lawns gazed at passers by helped define the people that lived there. Deep senses of satisfaction overtook me when I picked unknown berries off of park side trees. Indigo stains smudged fingertips and my introduction back home was complete.

Elementary playground for desperate teens. K-5 in the morning, 13-18 at night. U- shaped rubber tied to rusted links of chains heading up to metal poles. Designed to ignite the smiles lost for no reason except when we had to walk back home again. Driving was something everyone did because things were too far to walk to. Fall entangled itself in peoples hair. The pavement was cracked and paw prints were everlasting.

You could hear music blaring on their headphones as they walked by. It was nice to see mouths moving with no sound escaping them. Somehow you could imagine what people were saying and use it to your advantage.

Hometown alignment.

The striped upholstered lawn chair featured the dirt from outside forces; to have these forces cling to the back of my jeans; to be outside again onlooking the shadow when the sun hits the sewage drain at the right angle, to spot the overhanging arches of cable lines lined up with raindrops, to breathe through summer hazes, to graze upon cupcakes from scratch with vanilla frosting in the spring dew, to spot old timers walking old dogs.

Hometown alignment.

My vision became focused when I squinted into space. The dead space. It didn't take too long to stop. My eyes hurt; my brain did too. I had not yet mastered the art of stillness.

Colorwashed cycles, bleeding color, imaged together, swirling water, puddles on puddles, all in together.

I had leaned back into the chair.

I have enjoyed these memories many times before but sometimes I wasn't awake to live the moments which made them. When I’m home small annoyances carry happiness. Temporarily they make me smile.

The expiration of time involved my happiness attached to it.

Memories fade out. Tap out. Tap in again.

You expect them to speak out and become friends with you. You expect them to come to life again and remind you of the things that you see sitting on the striped bulky lawn chair.

When we have the chance to bring them back to life we try to.

I had that chance to make up for all the times I was asleep. Somehow I knew I did not want to fall back into this cycle; a failed revival of memories.

I knew that happiness could not be fleeting forever; But I expected those days to last forever; I expected my life to sing that song till the day I died.