The buildings' lights consumed the fog that had settled upon the beach front. The neon lights from the boardwalk and the bright yellow lights from the numerous hotels created such a striking picture when surrounded by the pale fog, their stony skeletons sticking out against the dusky setting. I want to remember that.

The people looked so small below me. Some were seemingly oblivious—or just uncaring—about the people gliding through the air above them. But some, children mainly, stared up at us. The stream of people, the stream of humanity... I want to remember them, to remember the difference between those who never once looked up and those who did.

The ocean was not crashing against the shore in anger, nor was it slipping along sleepily. It was content and peaceful, but ever so much alive and strong. It did not murmur its secrets to me, it said them loud and clear. And when such a mighty force as the ocean stretches around you like a blanket of power, you must take the time to listen to it. Such a wise energy the ocean has. And its beauty as it moved silkily through the darkening background can be compared to none. I want to remember that.

The wind was perfect, too. It was cool and soothing, but playful as well as it toyed with my hair. Its caress carried with it a moist feel of the saltwater below me and it was neither to blustery nor too still. It bore the millions of secrets, jokes, and words of love and hate that the people on the boardwalk were saying or whispering or shouting. And with the possession of those words came knowledge of mankind that surpasses none. For a brief and fleeting second, it whispered that knowledge to me, allowing me a short-lived insight to humanity. For a moment suspended in air I understood all about humanity that had eluded me so. How I wish I could hold on to and remember that forever. Alas, that complete and total insight came on the shoulders of one breeze and left on the next.

Still, I want to hold on to that night forever. Something as simple as a riding in a sky-lift over a dock is never as simple as it seems. For a four-dollar ride, I was given ten minutes to truly live, to see the world at its highest potential. I felt like an angel, I felt like a fairy, I felt like a goddess... but mostly, I felt like my purest self. I felt like anything was possible and that my life was only just beginning. And I want to remember that feeling. I want to commit it to memory as it is already committed to my heart.

"Does anyone realize what life is while they're living it?"

"No. Saints and poets, maybe. They do some."

While I am definitely not a saint, I am a poet. And what I learned that night, the epitome of my growing self, is what happens when you take the time to really look at life, the good and the bad. You get the privilege of seeing real poetry—the poetry of life and of yourself.


The italicized quotes are from "Our Town" by Thorton Wilder. It is an excellent play that everyone should read. :)