I’m not sure what it was.
Whether it was the lazy morning under the warm covers. The slight glimpse of a sunrise in the distance. Or the blanket of grey and full clouds that hung in the air with a foreboding sense of rain and winter.
The sounds of the M train clanking and clamoring along the road, the spark and fizz of the metal rod against the dual-wires over head. That San Francisco grey looming against the pavement, waking along with the feet of its people carrying a misty chill in its embrace. The mournful cry of a low foghorn from the bridge of gold echos across the city, lost in the dense shroud of fog. Those moments of sun breaking through the sensation dulling curtain of mist, rays of bright hope beaming down to warm us for a second.
I was suddenly 20 again. Full of hope and desire. Dreams and ambition. I had the whole world at my feet. So much to do and see, so many different paths to walk.
The color of my hair was suddenly boring. Memories of my technicolor days streamed through my mind: pink, purple and blue. The daring changes I so capriciously made in the name of being different. Of finding my own purpose.
As I slipped into the drivers seat, ready to venture forth and take on my day, the tunes on the airwaves did nothing for me and I was struck with a need for the anthems of my youth.
The simple melodies and the insightful lyrics enveloped me in my memories and I cruised along the road, fighting back the waves of regret and sadness. The feelings of loss and age. No more were the days of carelessness. Of freedom and of joy. The surprise of a later curfew. That special date with a boy you could barely look at without blushing. The days of “what if” and “when I grow up”.
I would never take back all the laughs and tears, the feelings of joy and of insecurities. Those days are gone and done, only to be reminisced over when the days are gloomy and my soul aches for the simple days. They are my map, my past.
They are forever apart of me.
Forever imprinted on my soul.