I just want to go to the riverside. Now. Its late in the night. The cops might raid. The addicts might have a potful. All I want is to go there.
I miss the groan at times, the groan of the machines, the stark rubble of the falling boulders. I miss the pent up screams and the worked up eyes and the suppressed beats. I want to miss them.
I want to just lie there. The silhouette of the distant ships in the dockyard with a few dark lights twinkling. The banks, totally dark and serene, potentially invisible. The stormy sky with the stars absent. The flash of a singular headlight in the stroke of the hour. The thrash of the water along the grassy beach. The gradual rise of the white circle with the ebb of time.
I want to lie down on the soft grass. Let the wet ground soak my backside. I want to stare. I want to forget. I want to wonder. I want to realize the futility of the effort to wonder. I want me to be absent. I want me to be wanted. I want to fall. I want to rise again. I want to be blank. I want to be clean. I want to go far away. I came alone. I will go alone. In the meantime, I want to live. I want to go the riverside.