The cypress trees held a magical gaze amidst a cool breeze as the light faded into the night. The sunset in the distance was masked by a thick fog, it’s bright colours muted above a once bright blue sea peeking into various dark and light grey clouds.
It was getting late. I should leave.
It was beautiful outside; and that was an understatement. Lands’ End brought dreams to fruition. I could hear music in my head as the waves roared in delight. My memories brought me back to this spot, days and nights spent over and over again. It was lovers lane, though presently a lover was nowhere in sight, except in my heart. Perhaps the ocean knew that as it beckoned me. Pelicans would cry the oceans lament. Where is she? I asked myself the same question. Why wouldn’t I. Why shouldn’t I? This very spot was among the most magical of spots on the planet, let alone San Francisco. And magical spots always pose questions.
Would Taylor be ok?
What was the meaning of life?
Would the Cubs win the World Series again?
Seriously, where was she?
Would people on Facebook that I cared about stop arguing about people that didn’t care about them?
Would Taylor be ok?
Did I turn the burner off?
Why was it so windy?
When would the sun come out again?
We’ve seen Cornell, Prince, Bowie, George and more leave; please tell me there will be no more?
Will Notre Dame ever win another national championship?
Should I stay in the Bay Area, or move back to Chicago?
Will the NINERS ever be back?
Is she out there?
It was getting late.
I should leave.
I could hear music inside my head, loud and beautifully melodic and harmonic. The cypress trees stood their ground. I stood in kind. They expected nothing more, nothing less. There was a peacefulness here that I couldn’t find anywhere else. And trust me, I’d been searching.
It was too late.
I hadn’t yet left.
And then the cops showed up.
Originally written 8 March 2017
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