I wished for a simple peace of mind.
It came to me on a street corner in New York City in the middle of the night as I was walking off a bout of insomnia and getting nowhere with it. And isn’t that the way it is? That you find somewhere in the middle of standing still.
It happened suddenly, like a lightning strike on a still night. It was a loose thought that got away from me. This thought that we’re all gonna die and that I might as well gain peace of mind before it’s done. It was taking me on this hopeless fucking trip, as if I’d just shot up Bukowski. You can overdose on bad shit like that, which is where the wish came in.
Wishes are crazy things. There’s a sanctified applique to wishes I never have been able to understand. They’re made of air and treated like Sanskrit. Wishing? It’s like popping coins in a soda machine and expecting holy water. And yet, that’s just what I did. I made this wish as if spinning freshly culled wool from a crescent shaped pasture in some odd sounding place. I made this wish with the very same intent . . . to chase away the cold fisted melancholy. To brave the chill with warmth. It seemed poetic.
There was an abundant quality to the wish, to the way it made me feel in that moment. I felt as if I was standing in the middle of a field dripping with orange blossoms. I closed my eyes and I could find those velvet eyes slinking their way into me with their honeyed seduction. Those crooked stems, making it appear as if they were kneeling into a prayer with my name on it. I could even taste the perfume, and it was busy shaking loose a brilliant fever dream. A dream that spun on fiery coils, rousing bonfires in the dying night and willing the sun to feast on the desperate clutches.
The hunger in my darkest thoughts began to wane. The science in its talons wavered as if a crumpled paper airplane falling short of the make believe parapets in a war of toy soldiers. Inside the shallows of kismet and all their spent catastrophes is where I found my simple peace of mind. Borrowed from a wish whose equity was a quiet roam in which I put the moon to sleep.
The morning sun splayed through the stalks of steel and concrete and glass, birthing archipelagos of crimson and sienna across the yawning streets. The skyscrapers, still nestled together in sleep, like shipwrecked boats. Their deaths borne of the mighty reach, like spells upon the wishes thrown.
Wanting too much of that thing forever sells.