Ours

It's here. It's here. It's here. 

Early morning wakes me, sunlight sifting through every weary crack in the foundation, birdsong streaming through the speakers, that certain scent in the air and you know, you know, it's here.

The music in my ears couldn't be loud enough, my steps couldn't be quick enough, enough air could not fill my lungs, I was insatiable, I danced down the street, no matter the obstacles, the tasks at hand, I am invincible.

Another winter has passed; it dug its claws deep into my soul and dragged whatever Life was in there through gutters and drains until there was not a shred of light left, but it has passed. I may lie panting on the curbside, but I breathe. I forget, how easily I forget, every winter that this is what it does.

And yet, how easily I remember what lies waiting on the other side. My insides bubble, laughter bursts through every hollow cell in my veins, evaporates into the late twilight, my mind races in the night, unable to sleep, unwilling. What is sleep, when there has been nothing but, for months.

Now is the time for living.