The day the music died...

I remember it, my brother in his maroon mustang. Tinted windows. Adidas shorts and tube socks. Summer was sweet and I was a kid. 9 years old. And heading back from Cedar beach. The landscape was still innocent, we would drive through sod farms and peach fields in order to get home from the beach that summer, and my sister with her spasta malia and me with with my cheeky buck tooth smile, a sunburn, and sand in my hair, singing at the top of our lungs, With Anthony leading the way. It felt good to be here. And I loved it then because it was my everything. My everything, My love, my family, and the music. Nights in the porch and a tape recorder, visiting cousins, and singing songs by the Beetles... because yesterday all my troubles seemed so far away.... the humidity was thick enough to cut through and the sound of crickets and the love of the stars above watching overs. Flash forward 8 years and there I am, sneaking out of the house to sit with Veronica on the curb, a pebble through the window and the sound of the air-conditioner whirling. My thoughts wander always to those suburban nights, that lasted for ever, those summer nights, when the kids in the neighborhood were playing on the streets, and we would walk barefoot on the hot pavement. Night swims in the pools of our houses and still find a way to get to bed before our parents would realize we were gone.
time is slowly moving forwards and I am still moving forward, but everyone is still here with me.. and thats the beauty or loyalty of being home.
Had a great time tonight with my family and wish I had more time...