Games come to a close, and February goes with them. Another impossible winter month survived, and water cooler conversation tomorrow will be grim, how could I care. In a quiet moment, it was all revealed. The deadline so neatly handled, the Sunday night schedule suddenly cleared and calm. Reading through old journal entries. You never sing anymore. You never cry. Music seeped back into my soul. Tomorrow is March, no matter the snow clinging stubbornly to the courtyard.
My sister is in India, finding the answer. She tells me I already have the answer in me, and she is right. I have had it in me for years. One dark month does not take my love for New York out of me. Hollywood has nothing on this love story, I think.
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