The sun sets on another day…
This is a special series of entries for motown writers. Sorry, no picture here!
When I was young I was blessed with dreams. I say blessed simply because the world was a bad place for me already, and the dreams grade me a place to go, a place I was accepted, and a place I was free of pain. My first writing of any type of coherence was in 7th grade. Sure, I had written before, and it was over a verity of things from flowers to the riots and other things I saw at school, but those were not really writing, they were more of an escape.
In 7th grade I wrote to a girl named Maria. No, it was not the Maria in West Side Story, it was a Maria that I thought was wonderful. I wrote her a series of poems I intended to give to her when 8th grade started. They were probably sappy and gushy, but they were how I felt, and I wanted her to know.
That summer we once again moved, and I never saw her again, but I did run across the poems actually a few years ago, almost 40 years later, and thought “I wonder what would have happened if I had stayed.”
I will never know, but I know that it may have been a different world for me if I had.