Being in Vegas last week was surreal. Walking through time, ghostlike and indistinct. So many of the old paths.
I had forgotten that Web's apartment complex had been so close to the coffeehouse. Turned the corner, and I was faced with it - and it's funny, I don't remember Web when I look at that building, I remember you. So many times the bunch of us hung out there, but I remember one time so strongly that for years I've had it in my "Walking on Water" notes.
When you were housesitting for him, and I showed up at the door, unable to handle the nervous energy of the other guys. You had the lights down and candles lit even though it was just you. It was like stepping into another world, feeling the tension flow from me.
And we stayed up all damn night and talked. Mostly about the metaphysical stuff that so many of our other friends would roll their eyes at. Just talking, music in the background, Natalie Merchant telling us that the night belongs to lovers. I was the confessor for Hal, for Frank; I pulled conversation from Layne with difficulty, he and I being mostly nonverbal with each other. You and I were the ones who actually talked with each other.
And at dawn, we ended up in bed together. Well, of course we did, we were us. :) Laughing helplessly as we tried to stay on Web's air mattress, giving up and sliding to the floor, you inside me and no hurrying, no goal, just being there, time seemingly slowing in order to grant us a whole night just of this, just of being together. Away from the rest of this life.
An old sunbleached concrete building now, ten years later, but we were there then.
My mind holds onto all of the pain, all of the nightmares.
I am blessed to never have lost this.