I don't often wax poetic, but Thursday night's walk down the mall provided inspiration and I had to "pen" this down.These Nights
These nights make my heart race with endless, untapped possibility,
Make me ponder the sweet, fleeting moments of yesteryear,
Wonder how it can be these are memories so soon?
The dome-lit jogs among the stone and glory, beating down our demons with every step and drop of sweat,
The forgetting of troubles in gleeful coasts down Air Force Memorial hill,
Adrenaline pumping, midnight Potomac excursions, navigating turbulent waters by flashlight,
The thrill of each new explosion lighting up the night sky over the Lincoln again and again, bathing it in color as a million mesmerizing glows fade,
An unfamiliar crowd in a crushed velvet limo celebrating safe arrival in our noblest of steeds (How I still jump to think of the shot of cork out the moonroof!)
The man-child grinning maddeningly on the step as if he possessed a secret, took some secret pleasure in my presumptuous scoldings.
And the night of that very first glimpse, with a friendly stranger and ill-fitting heels.
A moment was all it took to take my breath, my heart.
One glimpse of the temple was sufficient to instill confidence in us both,
As we ventured onward sharing lives, loves, ambitions,
Taking the very world, as it were, at our command,
The same as we'd won the bar at Old Ebbitt's;
We came away feeling grand.
These nights make it all too easy to forfeit the mornings,
Forget my ne'er fulfilled vows to be rested.
Now I vacillate 'twixt hopeful joy and aching sadness,
Yet the feeling of it is one in the same.
It is the feeling of it, the very feeling ---
Spurs hope for unscathed, kindred souls yet unmet,
Assumes heart-to-hearts over botched culinary feats,
Anticipates passionate exchanges in the most unexpected of places,
Assures of a thousand experiences yet to be shared,
A thousand more breathtaking glances to be had ---
Makes these nights worth the sacrifice.
Of sleep.
Of reason.
Of inhibition.
Of pride.
And so, dearest ones, I bid you good to these nights.
These nights make my heart race with endless, untapped possibility,
Make me ponder the sweet, fleeting moments of yesteryear,
Wonder how it can be these are memories so soon?
The dome-lit jogs among the stone and glory, beating down our demons with every step and drop of sweat,
The forgetting of troubles in gleeful coasts down Air Force Memorial hill,
Adrenaline pumping, midnight Potomac excursions, navigating turbulent waters by flashlight,
The thrill of each new explosion lighting up the night sky over the Lincoln again and again, bathing it in color as a million mesmerizing glows fade,
An unfamiliar crowd in a crushed velvet limo celebrating safe arrival in our noblest of steeds (How I still jump to think of the shot of cork out the moonroof!)
The man-child grinning maddeningly on the step as if he possessed a secret, took some secret pleasure in my presumptuous scoldings.
And the night of that very first glimpse, with a friendly stranger and ill-fitting heels.
A moment was all it took to take my breath, my heart.
One glimpse of the temple was sufficient to instill confidence in us both,
As we ventured onward sharing lives, loves, ambitions,
Taking the very world, as it were, at our command,
The same as we'd won the bar at Old Ebbitt's;
We came away feeling grand.
These nights make it all too easy to forfeit the mornings,
Forget my ne'er fulfilled vows to be rested.
Now I vacillate 'twixt hopeful joy and aching sadness,
Yet the feeling of it is one in the same.
It is the feeling of it, the very feeling ---
Spurs hope for unscathed, kindred souls yet unmet,
Assumes heart-to-hearts over botched culinary feats,
Anticipates passionate exchanges in the most unexpected of places,
Assures of a thousand experiences yet to be shared,
A thousand more breathtaking glances to be had ---
Makes these nights worth the sacrifice.
Of sleep.
Of reason.
Of inhibition.
Of pride.
And so, dearest ones, I bid you good to these nights.
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