Guest Post (High Street)

by Bryce Rausch

Walking with Miles� guitar strumming away wearing away his cheap guitar strings hoping they wear so thin he can finally replace them with his Martin strings he plays for just us.

Walking Dan and I try to keep a tune but Dan soon gives up and pats his stomach and legs for a drum affect that will soon turn his belly and legs bright red making him stop and ending the beat in which we stepped.

Walking I sing into the night, nearly screaming concerned for the people living in the houses we walk on past in the late night but don�t care cause I�m sure I could outrun them.

Walking, Miles quits playing and with each story the words are frozen in the air as the temperature nears 40 degrees and we regret wearing our shorts, it was warm when we left.

Walking Dan starts, �I can�t even� Miles and I complete �begin to start thinking of knowing how to answer that question� and we laugh, not because of the oddness of the phrase we�ve become so fond of but because we all remembered it and recited it as if it were a prayer at church we had been saying since we were old enough to have to stay away throughout the entire mass.

Walking I start singing a familiar tune I haven�t thought of in months and Miles racks his brain trying to remember the chords as Dan finds the beat on his legs and we sing about a boy and his love for his butterfly as the moon shines on us as if it were a sun.

Walking we discuss everything we can think of for this is our chance, away from parents, away from school mates, away from girlfriends, attention is only on us without acting a certain way for anyone�s approval.

Walking we unleash the terrors trembling just under our skin that have been waiting to be set free for so long.

Walking with Dan and Miles and I, I feel like I could cry, run away, jump for joy, sleep, jump, tackle, slide, scream and any number of other emotions I could possibly be feeling because I love this moment but I know the moment is gone almost as soon as I realize it.

Walking we get to the swings which we finally rest on without realizing the swings are a symbol of so much more than we realize at that moment, swings bring up back and forth, you always start at the present and go to the past then the future, much like life, much like our conversations, we always start talking about what we�re doing now, memories of old, then where we�re going in this playground of life, and much like a swing we end the night by jumping off going forward, into the future.

We walk home.

[ poem ]/[ nostalgia ]/[ high street]

2 Replies to “Guest Post (High Street)”

  1. Were you playing on campus at all? I think I saw you playing your guitars. That not a very common thing at DSU. :ponder:

  2. Good job Bryce… I’d take out all the commas, tho, and spellcheck, but it’s a nice flow, nice images… wish I’d-a been there too.

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