Long walk

In times such as these my only refuge is a lonely walk down the dark and empty streets, which surround my apartment. The lightly fluttering rain and dim street lights set the murkiest of backdrops as I trudge along the brick and stone sidewalks. The sounds of rain clattering against rooftops and the street below coupled with the squeaking of my shoes along the dampened stones are the only things to fill the void. The sweet stench of old cigars and cigarettes cast aside in every dark alley brings me to months past when I was a reckless lad. As winter’s cold wind batters my weathered and unshaven cheeks, I can only be reminded of my days along Commonwealth Avenue and what it would have been like to be there right now. I am not one for crying but the drops of rain, which flow with such grace and abundance, shall suffice. This world of dark eeriness has become my only home. Around every street corner and in every pitch-black window display I expect some sort of beast or demon to appear. This world seems so fake; yet it is so real. The rain has finally stopped but my toes still feel it's watery sting with each passing second. The dark and empty storefronts, which I pass, stare back at me like brothers, as if to say we have something in common. The incessant hum of crossing signals and the booming roar of passing trains as they make their final stops for the night lead me back to my dreary place of residence. The only true currency left in this world is human connection. The madness, which has riddled my brain like a cancer, never seems to go away. I try so hard to be close with people, but I always seem to get turned away. Like a beggar, I am left to wander these streets looking for anything to quench my thirst or fill my empty stomach. Even when things seem good there always seems to be a but or however attached with it. I am afraid that the time when those buts or howevers are gone will never come. Love's tender touch is so close to me the merely a cool breeze shall bring it my way. I long to feel love hold me tight and look into my eyes with such passion; to have her soft lips connect with mine and to hear my heart leap out of my chest as she looks back up at me with innocence's keen eyes. Love is older than time itself but each time love is renewed she feels like a sweet child again. Unlike Adam in the Sistine Chapel, I hope I can feel the warm embrace and not be eternally doomed to loneliness. For now I shall wait because she is worth waiting for.