Fingerprints On Your Mind

There is this sort of feeling in the air that resonates through the evening on a day in which you laughed, loved, and lived hard and well. I guess you could call it confidence. It's like you can't stop grinning your face off because you remember well the good times and the sweet victories. You walk with a sort of macho swagger, like the way you do after bowling a strike or after making one of those brilliantly smart and snarky comebacks.

The days that you drink in the sunshine of good company and fun times come few and far between, but those are the days that mean something. Those are the days that make the dark and dreary roads that much more worth it. It's funny because yesterday when I went to bed, I fell asleep with a clammy sort of feeling in my hands, like I was a stranger in a storybook, waiting for the hammer to fall. But tonight I'm warm and sleepy, content with the knowledge that I'm not alone.

Even if the lovely times never last, they are forever the fingerprints on your mind when you are halfway between deep slumber and a beautiful dream.

So I'll hold onto the feeling. Until it passes, after a while.

And I'll kiss it goodbye, shedding the grip that it had on me, and returning to the me that I was before. But I won't forget. Not completely. And I'll still hear echos of my confidence on the days that prudence sees fit.