In the Desert of Sometimes

Do you remember when you spent all that time being pulled around by your heart?
The dusty roads ahead seemed like an adventure calling your name. But when you got there, you realized they led to a lot of gas stations with lone pumps and no attendants and you just had to keep filling up yourself.

Remember when music sounded like a landscape laid out before you?

"There's not enough time," you used to think.

But just as you noticed they had lapis lazuli in the gemstone bin at a roadside attraction, you looked back and saw the cashier's face turn into that dusty road again -- western movie whistles clouded your mind and you scooped a handful.

"You know, you're the prettiest gem in the store."

What kind of story are you writing? The bassline makes the sidewalk elastic and you bounce to the next string of thoughts, offering passers-by a hearty smile. It's the next chapter -- the one where you meet yourself as the lowly gas-station attendant and pat them on the back.

"Cheer up, it gets better," you'll chirp.

You look up at the sky and wonder what it would be like if you were one of those cowboys whistling in the movie, riding a white horse. Did they care where they were going?

Your horse's hooves thunder on the cracked earth, chasing dust across an open plain.

"See you when it's different," you'll say.

It already is.