A Farewell To Doc

There are so many stories that should and probably will be written about Harry Leroy Halladay. I can't possibly do the man justice by trying to impart those facts within my limited knowledge.

Especially since many people know the story: how he was a top draft pick who rose to the major leagues with so much promise, coming within a single out of throwing a no-hitter in his second career start. Then the story shifted to one of a struggling young pitcher trying to make his way against the very best hitters in the world, during the tail end of an era where slugging batters dominated the sport no less. He turned in one of the worst seasons a qualified MLB pitcher has ever handed on the desk in 2000, and the team sent him down three levels the next year in a potentially vain hope he'd figure shit out.

The 2001 team stands out to me really because it was the genuine beginning of my infatuation/love affair with the Toronto Blue Jays. Which is objectively hilarious because what a truly forgettable team, despite how Carlos Delgado was freaking awesome, Vernon Wells gave us lots of hope for the future (ha!) and the Quantrill-Plesac bromance was only trumped by their awesome abilities to actually pitch good bullpen innings. Aside from that (and Jose Cruz Jr.'s 30-30 year), the most notable thing about this squad was how dreadful the starting pitching staff was, particularly early on. Steve Parris, Joey Hamilton, Chris Michalek, Esteban Loaiza (I mean, Tom Riddle), all stinking up the SkyDome mound on a regular basis. Finally this pitching-sad squad made a depth callup in the middle of June for an arm with anything resembling life.

I'm not lying, I actually remember this game somewhat: Halladay's 2001 debut in relief (a truly dreadful Loaiza start it turns out). Doc same in early and then surrendered six runs in two-plus innings to the Red Sox. I recall my thirteen year old self watching and thinking: "This guy is really awful. I never want to see him out there again.". Halladay's ERA on the season after that game was 23.14. The team gave him an actual start five days later and I thought they were completely insane. This is why MLB teams don't listen to the whims of 13 year olds.

I quickly changed my tune and fell in love with Halladay. He didn't walk anybody (25 in 105.1 IP), didn't give up home runs (3!) and was just 24 years old in 2001, yet clearly had the best composure on that staff. Nothing seemed to bother this guy now, not Billy Koch blowing his potential wins multiple times or even just playing on a team so forgettably mediocre as the 2001 Blue Jays. You could just tell he was potentially on a different level.

Indeed he was. Roy Halladay had clearly arrived. He was a lonely bright spot on a really bad 2002 Blue Jays team, a point of pride on a competitive 2003 team that scored a million runs thanks to simultaneous career years, and his injury/brief ineffectiveness was a major symptom of the Season From Hell (vol I) that was 2004.

2005 rolls in, I'm seventeen and now have fallen in love with pitching. I spent a lot of my after school time at my high school going out back to the sports field, finding a familiar square on the outer brick wall and just firing away. I learned quickly my fastball was pathetically slow (like barely breaking the speed limit in a school zone slow), but the appeal of it all was more in the art of pitching than just being able to blow heat past people. I wanted to carve corners, change speeds, make em think something else was coming. I 'd been watching a master at this in Doc Halladay for three-plus seasons now, and I wanted to emulate this master sculptor like a child desperate for just a single slab of marble. Everything he threw at hitters moved, but it moved in such unpredictable directions and was always in just a perfect spot where a hitter couldn't quite get it. Another weak ground ball. I watched every one of his starts, studied this impossible method and aspired to be capable of the same, even after an errant but heartbreaking line drive from Kevin Mench prematurely ended what could have been Doc's best season.

Halladay's brilliance as a Blue Jay became a yearly expectancy as his career continued. Once we knew he was fully healthy after an initially exciting 2006 season, Doc spent his remaining time as a Blue Jay spinning seasonal masterpieces for teams that either made ineffectual moves towards competing or just wanted to start over. After 2009, it was time for Doc to start over. It was a common secret Halladay wanted to play in Philadelphia, yet he never made a public request or complained on emerging social media, and the team made a deal that now basically results in getting a third of R.A. Dickey and all of Devon Travis. Conclusion jury is still out looking for conclusions on that one.

Losing Doc hurt every fan of the Blue Jays, despite how inevitable it felt near the end. And yet, many of us didn't harbor ill feelings towards him for wanting to get outta town. Many of us still rooted for him, and were ecstatic the night he threw his perfect game in Miami. I remember I was out on the town with some friends, heard about what he'd done and once I was free rushed home at three in the morning just to watch the highlights of another Halladay masterpiece. And he looked every bit the pitcher he had always been, except he was wearing the wrong uniform. But that didn't matter. He was still our guy.

Later that same season was the first game of the 2010 NLDS with the Phillies facing off against the Reds (before they became my adopted NL team). A friend of mine wanted to have a long hang out of beers, personal basketball/baseball rivalries and various other stuffs, but it was Roy Halladay's first ever playoff appearance for the Phillies and I just did not want to miss it, so I blew him off. My friend fired some snarky remarks my way, which I gladly accepted for the opportunity to watch live only the second no-hitter in MLB postseason history. A historically excellent performance tarnished only by the fact that Doc missed a perfect game by walking a single batter, on a borderline 3-2 pitch no less. The Phillies won that series against the Reds but lost frustratingly to a clearly inferior Giants squad in the NLCS, and that was the closest Halladay ever got to a championship he richly deserved. He had a couple more good years with Philadelphia (including that great Game Five playoff duel with Carpenter the next year) but shoulder problems slowly robbed him of velocity and he hung up the spikes after 2013 with 206 wins in the big leagues.

Roy Halladay was the kind of player you wanted to root for, to cheer for, to love, once you inhaled a single wiff of what he was about. He was an insanely hard working and well conditioned, but humble about his own personal successes. His greatest pitching skill was ruthless efficiency, yet he was incredibly enjoyable to watch when on his game. In retirement his obsessive dedication to his craft gave way to a man cheerful and relaxed with his accomplishments, whether it be trolling a fan with a Halladay jersey (who walked past Doc without recognizing him) in good social media fun, signing a theatrical one day contract so he could retire as a Blue Jay (with all the gushing that followed), or taking up an interest in aviation (which is exactly what has led to this tragedy).

All I can say is that I'm proud to be a fan of the Blue Jays, because Roy Halladay played for the Blue Jays. A great, classy ballplayer who by so many accounts was an even greater and classier human being. During those forgettable seasons when Doc took the mound I usually didn't care who the Jays were facing or what the sad W-L record of my team was, I was more excited to see a true master take the stage once more. I am truly saddened we will never get to see the man himself take to the precious stage of life again.

Maybe The Truth

Maybe the truth is
I have so much to offer
Maybe the truth is
I don't interact like a normal person
Maybe the truth is
I want to be alone
even though that's what kills me
Maybe the truth is
I imagine magic that isn't there
Maybe the truth is
I don't need to imagine
the magic is there in all of us
Maybe the truth is
I'm afraid
but aren't we all
Maybe the truth is
Most of us are noble and true
it's the bad ones that shit
on the parade

Alone At A Party

Talking up to the corner
Making friends with the snack bowl
The bathroom sure knows my name by now
It's where I've been hiding

Everyone else is so natural
like they're actually friends
So badly I want the same
but I've nothing to say

I drift through the room
like an aggressive decoration
A look here, an eyebrow raised there
I'm a phony so lonely
Hiding fear through smiles
While my eyes roll
among the floorboards

Waves In Motion

In anger I pressed hard on my pedals and was off. This was the last straw, I'd been made a fool for the last time. Everyone knew she'd been doing this behind my back, everyone in class had been laughing it up about stupid naive me. Oh she had yelled at me as I rode away, calling me a number of cruel things that bounced off the outside but cut on the inside. I rode faster, ran a red light, nearly got sandwiched between a pair of trucks, and had no clue where I was going. It didn't matter.

Eventually I was along a waterfront trail and ended up at a dock overlooking a bunch of boats. There was an empty bench and I sat down, burying my head in my hands. This was it. Dating anyone just wasn't worth the grief. Especially if they were all like her. Especially to do that with my best friend.

I wasn't paying attention, lost in my sadness, and an older man got the drop on me. He sat next to me on the bench before I could protest or even notice. Once I looked he had already opened a can of beer and was contently enjoying it. Yeah great, of all the moments in my life I needed this now. I glared at him for a moment but that only seemed to increase his enjoyment of what was happening. Senile old coot.

'Fine night, isn't it?'

Now he wanted to talk to me? My torment was never going to end.

'Sure, whatever.'
'Reminds me of a night long ago.' He smiled, sipping. 'I was much younger then, different things on my mind.'

I didn't reply. More than anything I wanted to throw myself or him into the water. Or just ride away and leave, but I couldn't gather the energy for even that. My head stayed down in my hands.

'Would you like one young man? I suspect you're not legal quite yet but it seems like you could use one.'

This old fart would not get the hint. Then again, I was in such a foul state I hardly cared about anything. I'd never had one before, maybe a "one" would make me feel better. I surely couldn't feel worse. I stuck my hand out without looking and the stranger handed me a cold can. I fumbled with it (not bothering to look, head still in my hands), opened it and pushed it blindly to my lips. It was like chilled watery wheat juice left in the sun and I nearly spat it out.

'No sweat. For me anyway, it took many years before I liked it.'

I glared up at the old stranger again and was surprised to see how put together he seemed. I'd expected torn clothing, dirt stains and common hobo unpleasantness, instead he was well dressed with sharp red shoes that, though old, shone brilliantly under the streetlight. I felt more at ease, though still very put off by his presence here.

'I bet I can guess what's bothering you. Girl problems.'
'Get lost.' I fired.

To my surprise he chuckled. I tried another sip and found it slightly less repulsive than the first time.

'Precisely.' The stranger nodded. 'What business is it of mine? The last thing you want right now is some old fart telling you what to do, or reminiscing about his personal glory days. You don't need that.'
'Sure. Cool, I guess.'

We were silent for a long moment, sipping our drinks and looking in different directions into the bay. Some feeling came over me and I felt the urge to at least test his wisdom.

'I... I dunno... I'm like, someone made a fool of me. That's all I'm saying.'
'Sure. That'll happen. There's always drama with these types of things, that doesn't change.'
'It doesn't?' I asked.
'Well, the type of drama changes. Romantic relationships are difficult, uncertain creatures. And when you're young, everything around you is so wide open, the uncertainty is even greater.'
'Does it, you know, get easier?'

The stranger finished his beer and tossed it into a recycle bin with perfect accuracy.

'Maybe.' He shrugged with a faint grin, mumbling some other words before grabbing an umbrella from his pocket and tapping it to his forehead in goodbye.

I watched him disappear and then sat for a while until the rain really came down upon me. Back on my bike I went, leaving the gift a quarter finished, an was drenched by the time I got home.

-----

It had been years since I had ridden a bicycle. In my first year of university I suffered a terrible knee injury trying out for the basketball team, thanks to a slippery gym floor, and the basic movement of riding was agonizing for some time. My accident had eventually transformed into a brief lawsuit, leaving me with a fair amount in the bank for my trouble, minor consolation since my knee was never the same despite multiple surgeries. Once the coin was mine I bought a pair of expensive shoes and then a bicycle just to see if I still could do it. Turned out I couldn't pedal very fast, but it was doable.

There was a place I'd gone years ago in high school I wanted to see again, so at night I snuck out of my dormroom and rode towards the lakeshore very slowly. Nothing was familiar as I went, there were condos now being built along the main stretches of street. I wasn't completely sure where I was going, and was relieved when I finally saw a dock with about a dozen boats floating idly in the water. I took a seat on a bench and stared into the bay for a while, my thoughts lingering on my next move in life.

These mental motions were disrupted when a man staggered into my line of vision. He was maybe a decade older than I, though his shaggy beard and reddish face added some phantom years beyond that. In his hand was a can of beer, which he gulped down and tossed onto a docked boat with admirable accuracy. He turned to me:

'Eyyyy... we've have got the same shoes man we've got!'

I glanced at his feet and he was right, though his were a bit more worn away. I commented how that was a funny coincidence and immediately regretted doing so, since he sat down stared clumsily at my face.

'I don't remember... seein' you before...'
'That'd be another crazy coincidence.' I nodded, turning in another direction. His breath was foul like an onion sandwich mixed with booze.
'What's troublin' you man? Ya look... look like yarve got something onyourmind...'
'It's nothing. Don't worry about it dude.' I said, trying to be closed yet polite. 

He mumbled, reached into his jacket and pulled out two more cans. He nearly dropped one but showed another impressive move by catching it with his foot and flipping it up to his open hand. He then offered the same beer to me and I felt compelled to accept, if only to compliment his bizarre dexterity.

'Thanks.' I said, giving him a cheers. He nearly spilled it all over his pants.
'I gots... stuffs on my minds, mans... big stuffs...' He mumbled, taking a large gulp. 'You minds if I get some ofit off machest?'

I agreed and took my first sip. It was okay considering I wasn't much of a beer fan. The clumsy gentleman began to ramble somewhat coherently about what was troubling him. Most of the details were lost in the haze of his desire to keep adding more details or just an inability to form proper sentences, but from what I pulled out this was something very heavy and important.

'That's intense.' I said when he seemed finished. 'That's a really tough call there.'

He said nothing, only rubbing his head in stress and staring out at the boats for a long moment. At last I thought to leave but he sensed it.

'So tellme what'son yer mind now.'
'Trust me it's cool.' I insisted. 'It's silly in comparison to what you told me.'
'Nono no no, please do. I would really... like to hear it.'

I sighed, sure I was about to sound like an immature dope. Another sip of beer and I glanced at my strange storyteller: his eyes were even more glazed than before but I knew somehow he was about to listen intently.

'Well... ugh... it's just I don't feel like... like I'll ever meet someone.'
'Okaysh.' He said, swaying slightly.
'I mean, it's not that I've never met anyone, you know... there have been short little things. I'm just not sure I'll ever meet the real, right person. You know?'

He was silent for a moment. We sipped beer in the tightness of quiet, the only sounds provided by the waves shifting the boats around.

'Ithinks somes fews of us never meet that personIguess... or we do but they comes along later in life, whenyou'renot looking for em... it's differents, for everyones.'
'But how do you know they're the one?' I asked, feeling stressed myself now. 'How can you be 100 percent sure?'

He began to speak but paused. His lips twitched a bit and his eyes rolled up a bit, as though a new different thought had pushed the old one away.

'100 percents? Nevethat's... doubtthere's always therisk... always the leaprisk...'

I wanted to ask more but he suddenly got to his feet, spilling the last quarter of his beer. He thanked me for listening to him and stumbled off into the night before I could return so likewise. So much of what he said hardly made sense to me, like it was hopeful and bleakness holding hands with each other. I watched the water a bit longer but could not find any conclusion to my dilemma I felt good about. Eventually I hopped back on my wheels, leaving the beer half empty, and rode slowly back towards downtown. A slight warm glow gave my knee an easier trip of it.

----

It was the spot I was needed. Definitely. Had to be. I'd asked the streetcar driver half a dozen times. She yelled at me to get off right before Coxwell. People on the streets, weird looks. The ones who would even acknowledge me didn't know what I was talking about. I wandered south in a haze of blurry traffic lights and dark enormous trees. Shadows closing in all around me. Shadows again! A sense I was close to where I needed to be kept my bravery. It was all I needed.

Still, some excess bravery couldn't hurt. I lunged my hand into my heavy jacket. A fresh cool can. Load lightened. These shadows had their tentacles near my throat now. I popped the can and dumped most of the contents down my mouth quickly. Now I was light-headed, more so, my steps clumsier and my vision slightly titled, more so. Much better.

I evaded the shadows, came upon a bench directly across from the water. A dozen or so boats floating along the docks there. Another man, younger, already sitting on the bench. I finished the rest of my can and threw it blindly towards the water, it landed somewhere didn't care. I observed to the bench man we wore the same shoes. He agreed. An invitation. I sat next to him, immediately he seemed less comfortable. I'd never seen him before, unsurprisingly. Big city. His bicycle was familiar though, leaning against a nearby tree.

Something was troubling him, deep. An inquiry into what but I was shrugged away. I reached into my jacket for my last two miracle cans, dropping one on my feet.

'You want one?' I asked, more or less.

He accepted and we drank for a moment. It occurred to me then that I was here to contemplate. All this way to a special spot, mull this heavy thing. I asked the young stranger if I could do so aloud. He agreed. Delightful. Instant camaraderie.

'Well it's a matter of life and love.'

The young stranger nodded, contemplating my gift after his first taste. I continued.

'I've been with the most wonderful awesome woman in the world. Four years. Most of em great. But we've hit a roadblock. An impasse. We've gone as far as we can without the big step. Hand in hand. Death do us part. I do? Do I?'

No response. Maybe I wasn't clear enough.

'She's dynamite, you know? An explosion of a person. Can't imagine life without her. Legs, body, mind, eyes. Smiles with style, right? But I ain't sure. Feel like I gotta be totally sure. Like a concrete block. This is my life man! Total certainty.'

The young stranger nodded and mumbled something about tough calls. Couldn't get through. What a shame. Maybe the boats out in the water could guide me somewhere. Still nothing though. Had to steer this in another direction.

'So tell me what's on your mind now.'

He tried deflecting my inquiry once again, but I persisted kindly. At last he sighed. A tell. He was going to reveal it. I looked at him intently. He was still young, had to show I was paying attention.

'All right well... ugh... it's just that I don't feel like I'm ever gonna meet someone.' He explained.

I nodded. The young stranger continued, explaining his plight. Rather emotional frustration. To some it could've seemed dopish. Not to me. Been through the same thing. Tough. It's difficult to step up to the plate and think you've finally got one to hit, but you swing and miss anyway. I attempted some wisdom:

'I think some few of us never meet that person... or we do but we let them slip away for whatever reason... or they come along later in life when you're not looking for them... it's different... for everyone.'
'But how do you know they're the one? How can you be 100 percent sure?'

My instinct was to snicker. Youthful foolishness. You just know. Diamond tough. But... do you really? Completely? Did I? Was this it? My feeling? Questions now. Certainty of certainty shattered. Youthful wisdom.

'100 percent? Never. There's always doubt and... there's always the risk... always the risk of the leap...'

New things to think about. Avenues unexplored in the dilemma metropolis. I'd been locked into a fear I couldn't understand, unaware how common it could be. Had to leave this place. Served me well, done it's job. No long goodbyes necessary. Dumped the rest of my can into the grass, back into the night. Back into the shadows. But this time I had them. There were streetlights breaking their curtains. 

----

For much of my younger life I was in a state of disharmony, an imbalance of emotion if you will. I believe many of us grapple with a similar impasse during this period of life. Two states of mind that are naturally opposed by one another, yet our instincts drive our desires towards both: the need for self and the need for someone else. As a younger man I pursued the second much more vigorously, presuming such success would also mean success for the first. This was frustrating. I neglected loving myself for the pursuit of someone who could love me, and was eventually fortunate at all to find such a person who could tolerate that.

But I did, and as we became closer and closer I found it much easier to love her than I did to love myself. This was the disharmony: I'd always wanted to love someone and so took to it quickly, but in terms of self-love I was immature and inexperienced. My diet habits were bad, I consistently had one drink too many, my clothes would tear and go unreplaced. Eventually I reached an emotional puberty, wherein I began looking out at the world and seeing opportunities one without any sense of self would be blind to. I thought this would finally eliminate the disharmony, add much needed certainty to my life but instead the questions went another direction. I was changing into a different version of myself and now wasn't even sure I wanted what had been the one true constant in my adult life: the one I loved. Now my frustration at the uncertainty of life had reached an apex.

The solution came entirely by accident, as many solutions do. It was a matter of recognizing what the problem actually was: it wasn't so much that uncertainty itself was the issue, it was my perception of it. Looking upon uncertainty as a solvable problem can slip one down a rabbit hole into an impossible search for perfection. This is where I was, seeking absolute satisfaction within myself when such a search will leave you spinning in circles uselessly. I realized in a moment that uncertainty itself is neither bad or good, it exists only because our existence is filled with so many options and choices in each instant of time. It's easy to look back at mistakes and visualize correcting them, but it's hard to look back confidently at making a good decision instead of a great one. Once I understood the source of my uncertainty wasn't from the fear of making a mistake, but from the fear of not making a perfect choice, an internal peace revealed itself to me.

This was many years ago. I made at the very least a great choice by staying with the wonderful, patient woman who had supported me through my maturation of emotional self. We built a steady life together, got into the microbrewing industry and now enjoy a work both of us have become quite fond of. One evening our car was at the mechanic's, so I dusted off an old bicycle and went for what was intended as a short ride. This "short ride" transformed into a long adventure along the lakeshore. It was a kind early summer night and my thoughts were drifting into random instances of the past, vague blurs of moments that reflected the better and worse of my former self. There was a place close to here that flashed in these memories and I continued onward to find it.

There were some boats roped to a dock up around the bend. A bench overlooked it right next to the water, the sound of the waves brushing against the boats was a siren call for me to sit there. I hid my bicycle in some bushes, cracked open a can of my microbrew and embraced the atmosphere. As I approached the bench I saw somebody was already sitting there, a teenager with his head buried in his hands. I was uncertain whether to disturb him or not, a feeling which convinced me to sit down there. He gave me a vicious look as I did so and I could hardly hide a smile. Definitely a great choice.

'Fine night isn't it?'

The gears in his young mind turned with such annoyed contempt I thought the whole mechanism was about to shut down. Instead he shrugged and unhappily hung his head around his knees. I commented how this was a night that reminded me of another a long time ago but he hardly flinched, making me chuckle to myself all the more. Knowing the next step, I reached into my jacket.

'Would you like a beer, young man? I suspect you're not legal quite yet but it seems like you could use one.'

The adjustment in his shoulders told me he was open to my offer. I gave him a fresh cold one, he opened it, took a sip, and tried not to gag. It reminded me of my very first cold one. Despite this reaction he was clearly more at ease from this point onward. I thought to press the issue by saying something deliberately irritating.

'I bet I can guess what's bothering you. Girl problems.'

Sharp hostility in return. All I needed was a reaction, any reaction was a step forward from the previous despondency. I went forward, emphasizing how it was none of my business and how I, as an older cloud of flatulence, was in no place to understand what exactly could be happening in the mind of a young fellow like himself. It was the precise thing to say in this moment, very little uncertainty there. I could sense it. Sure enough he seemed somewhat gracious at my attempt to respect his feelings. We were silent then for a while, he pretending to enjoy my gift brew while I required no facade to enjoy mine.

'I... I dunno... I'm like, someone made a fool of me. That's all I'm saying.' Said my young friend at last.
'Sure. That'll happen.' I replied quickly. 'There's always drama with these types of things, that doesn't change.'
'It doesn't?' He asked, as though his eternal spirit hung in the balance.
'Well, the type of drama changes. Romantic relationships are difficult, uncertain creatures. And when you're young, everything around you is so wide open, the uncertainty is even bigger.'

My words had given his lips something to mash together for a moment. The night was getting late for my old bones and they felt rain soon coming. I took a large gulp of my brew.

'Does it, you know, get easier?' Asked he.

All the moments of memory that had sparked in my mind seemed to align at just this moment, like every version of myself was in harmony. Except one.

'Maybe.' I smiled to him, finishing my brew and tossing it into a nearby recycling bin. I gathered myself to my feet and was about to leave when one last thought popped into my mind.

'Get yourself a nice pair of shoes though. Red ideally.'

And I was gone, back on my wheels and pedaling against an oncoming rain I hadn't evaded before, but would now. I wasn't sure my young friend had fully heard that last bit, but it was okay. It would happen, as it always did.

So, The Streetlights

So, the streetlights pop to life, proper proud orbs of small artificial suns. So, the moon brushes the clouds aside, an evermore glowing centre stage in a darkening sky. So, the shadows behind your cheeks become deeper, your face transforming into a mask of hidden intentions.

So, my hands become cold, I plunge them into my pockets but still my knuckles tremble. I check my watch but the hands have stopped. I try to cover my face but my arms are equally frozen. So, the streetlights flicker and fade, this world losing life with an inhuman laugh.

Dance In The Short Sand

You dance on the cliffside of breakdowns
always a smile on your face
Maybe to hide something harsh beneath
or a ploy for selfish sympathy
I can see your steps in the canyon stone
steps I know so very well
They move yet also drag, like uncertainty
I'm uncertain how close I am to the edge

There's a sadness in me I cannot explain
why it exists
what it wants
or where it came from
all I know is the feeling when it comes
A darkness covering all my daylight
even on a sunny day
with beloved mutual company
Shadows turn my thoughts against me
until I'm alone
scrounging for a flicker of light

Time Slips Away

I've thought of moments in life that pass by so slowly
Experiences that drag, a heavy stick held by a tired arm
So often I feel impatient
Wanting to move onto the next thing
Counting down minutes constantly
Like they're infinite grains of sand on a beach
How to spend the moments so waited for?
The permanently hot currency on your trading room floor
I want to create, but the mood is not often there
So my mind lingers in reruns
Grounds of nowhere ideas I've stomped before
Stories amusing on first glance, not tenth
I've thought of moments in life that pass by so slowly
And these are not them
They are flickering lights zipping through a metropolis
Going in a continuous circle
Speeding up the afternoons and nights
Stealing the grains of sand from my finite beach