Red and orange and blue and green lights haunting the black familiar weirdness. Thousands of people drawn to a city of pretend and bigger things. We came here. Friends till death, or at least till the fun remained. Torn hearts reaching out in the darkness for anything, for each other, for the stars, for something real in this life of plastic emotion. Drugged on whatever, following the night where it went.
I contrast the provincial, tacky neon of International Drive against the timeless, endless night sky and wonder if anyone else finds it as tragic as I do - that our friendships and our dreams and our innocence all vanished in that night sky throughout the years. Only our chemical-addled memories and a handful of pictures are left to prove our love, fun, and tears even existed. That and those lights.
We all changed by now but those magnificent artificial stars, those halos shining in the darkness still remain, telling us there is something more than this soul-less grind. Every time I see those lights, I think of lost love, of lost friendships, of the reckless nights chasing ideas we could never possibly explain. I see the lights of this city and I remember all the hurt and all the joy the people here have brought me. I think of the love and hurt I’ve brought them. I remember all the very real moments set against this fake tourist backdrop of facades and urban sprawl. I remember what brought us all up here in the first place.
I hope that the people that brought me those memories remember some of those nights. And I hope that sometimes when those halos reflect off your windshield as you drive somewhere none of us are a part of anymore, that you remember me. That you remember us. That you remember what it was once all about.