Till Morning Brings You Light

Let 'em laugh -- they never knew

"You've still got all the old records. That should be enough."

And maybe it should be.

But it's not.

And on the cold nights when the wind whips past the buildings and the streets are relatively empty, the possibilities line up like aircraft circling above, waiting to land.

The weight of what might have been.

The static charge of electricity in the air.

Which almost glistens in the side of your consciousness.

And you look up. Suddenly transported. Transfixed.

By the glimmer. By the possibility.

Of something that never quite came together. But was always right there.

Something that always existed, waiting to be plucked from the ether and made real, brought into the lives and minds of millions.

And then...

... it just shimmers.

And is gone.

Shadows.

Contrails of an alternate future.

That never quite happened.

There's no stopping the daily rush forward. But every once in a while the past nips at your heels, makes you turn, and then laughs at you for seeking out things that never were.

Still, the old records ought to be enough.

Except for the longing for the newer old records -- the ones that never quite existed, but should have.