the Old Apartment

This is the last time I'll walk this way to my sister's. This is the last time I'll trundle this hill on a Saturday night. This is the last time I'll have breakfast on this balcony (it's the first time, too, so I may not remember to miss it). This is the last time I'll close my eyes and sleep to the rocking of the subway trains below. 

Spring exploded in the city today, in an hour the trees had popped, the flowers washed the lawns in color, the birds busied themselves with six months worth of gossip. May lies on the tip of our tongues, restless May, May that tickles my every nerve and I want to go. There is never a better time to move than May.

(You should know.
You have done it enough.)

Always that restless inability to sleep, the night before. Always that excitement, and apprehension, and stir of emotions. Tomorrow I drop off one key, I pick up another. Another home. Another life.

A clean slate.
A white, blank page.
May,
and a whole new world
for the taking.