Howling at the Moon

There was a time in my mis-spent younger days when I would have given anything to feel the sweet kiss of inebriated oblivion.

Seeking the semi-permanent numbness of alcoholic and drug induced haze was almost a full time job.

It's funny how much time I spent trying to forget everything.

And then I quit.

Told myself (and everyone else) that it was for health reasons.

But really it was just something I did.

Never understood why, or why I felt the need to lie about it.


But tonight by the waterside
crisp eventide summer solstice breeze
beached logs the size of cars
capering about the boulders
howling at the strawberry moon
with the only ones left who really matter
I came to understand.


Because, in the end, memory is all we have.

Because not all memories are bad.

Because sometimes, even the bad memories are sweeter with the passage of time.

Because I didn't want to rob myself of the only thing that any of us can ever really hold on to.