He never left...he's always been here...under the stars

a small story i wrote a few years ago for someone special

He's out there, the car pushing 80, the windows rolled down. The sun is high above him, amongst an endless blue sky that seems to be so close that he can touch it. He always loved it out here, the green fields, the rolling hills, the big emptiness that made him feel more alive than he ever had back home. The wind is blowing through his hair as he adjusts the volume on the radio. The sounds of the traditional irish music make this place in his head closer to god than any church service he had ever attended. the bagpipes providing a message of life to him. He travels on, smiling, and any passerby can tell that this man is not down and never would be...he is shielded, he is somewhere else, a world untouched by the impurities of this life
He stops the car, and gets out. There is a park by the river in his mind, children playing in the playground off in the distance. He used to play on those swings when he was a child, in a way, he was still on that swing. He gets into the small boat and rows himself out into the middle of the river. Besides the park, there is nothing on either side but trees. He lays down and begins to sing to himself, a happy little tune. The air is light, the endless blue replaced with gray and he knows whats coming. the rain starts to fall. He does not move, the rain falls, each drop refreshing on his face and he breathes in.
It stops raining, and the shore is visible in the fog, there is a small cottage built along the shore, he knows this place, its the home in his head. He pulls the boat on shore, and walks to the door. He steps inside. The wood is a cherry oak...lively color. he goes to the room and changes in the clothes he left behind.
Later that night, he steps outside, the sun is down, the stars are out. He lays down in the wet grass and stares up because how often will he ever be able to look at those stars. He lays there, a slight breeze consumes him, and he is devoid of all thought. He falls asleep, the stars, still in his head, and tomorrow, he will be on that same road, on that same river, on that same shore.
But the place doesnt exist you say? a hallucination in his head you ask? well no. From that shore, he wakes up, the ceiling of his small cramped apartment in new york city above him, the sounds of sirens and traffic from the window. But there is an arm wrapped around him, and he looks over at her, and now you realize, he never left, hes always been there, under the stars.