It's night time. I'm invariably listening to Southern Blues/Jazz/Torch, which I love. I step out onto my balcony and close my eyes. The breeze, the distant sound of traffic, the music, the feel. I'm transported back in time to the balcony on my house in New Orleans. Crawl out my window and stare into the misty night and that blasted street light outside my window. What was it about that city? Something that bewitched me the first time I stepped foot in it. There is a beat to it. That last year...I was part of that, I was in the city like my other friends who never leave campus will never be. It wasn't anything. Everything about it, driving down Tchoupitoulous, sitting watching the river, wandering around a quiet French Quarter, the trees on St. Charles. It's something that can never be explained. Sure, anyone that knew me that year wouldn't say that I was particularly happy. But in a way, I was. I've never felt so peaceful, never so consumed with everything. When I look back at the good times in my life, those slow days in New Orleans will always come to my mind. It's the one feeling I will never be able to explain to anyone. Such bliss.
There is always a breeze that takes me back.
And I think about my past and everything I've done and I always end up wondering the same thing:
How did I ever end up here?