Back to the beginning. To those olden days. To those cosmic rays and the shine of your strange teeth as you drunkenly walk unfamiliar streets trying to remember your way home. Such streets recall a younger version of yourself even if that version no longer exists, yet somehow it still does, somewhere, out there, drifting around like I do in my own peculiar and mercurial fashion. The air is recycled as are the dreamless dreams of those that surround so unseen and meek. The stars are the same as they were way back when and although faces change, they never tend to differ. Not much, anyhow. And yet as familiar as things are, and as predictable as this life gets, there’s an undercurrent of possibility that always threatens to tear apart absolutely everything you know. It’s with you every step of the way, and just when you think you’ve got it all figured out, it pulls the rug from under your feet. Maybe it’s called love. Maybe it’s mere mortality. Maybe it’s something we’ll never be able to figure out at all. But it’s there, and it’ll never leave no matter how much others try to deny it. As you walk with your hands stuffed into your pockets with a nose pinched red by the cold, the traffic is sparse, but it’s there nonetheless, and as the glow of oncoming headlights pull you deeper into the void, you think about everyone you’ve ever loved and how none of them quite compare to him. The one that haunts you much the same as she haunts me. Feeling dizzy, you stop by the side of the road and look out across a sea of empty parking lots before closing your eyes. There are ghosts. So many ghosts. They reach out to you the same as you reach out to the one you wish would appear beside you. Holding your breath, he’s close enough that you can almost feel the warmth of his hands against your cheeks as he thumbs away your tears. And then, then he pulls you into his chest which is right where you belong. Time and time again, we play out the same scenarios. Time after timeless time, we get so alone in need of that elusive heart that beats as if it were our own.
Author S. K. Nicholas 
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