Post Title.

I wish the working year only stretched from October to May, she sighed, I can't sit still when it is light out. But I cannot be troubled by lack of sleep, by jittery legs. The giggles are always too close to the surface, it's as though I've spent months short of breath and am finally filling my lungs, it is divine.

I bike home in the early evening, birdsong and breezes lain gently against my racing legs, I smile at strangers in my way, the city spreads out in what are not yet sunset colors, up that last hill you see the whole town and how green it has become, how sparkling the waters, you cannot hate such a sweet view.

She tells me she's looking at apartments now, close to the new job, would that be midtown east? New York lies like a promise in her future, a new husband, a new life, a sweltering jungle of bureacracy and changing the world. I look at a map of Manhattan to help her navigate the grid, every street corner a stab at my poorly rehabilitated heart, I was caught off guard. I stare myself blind at the blue dusk outside, remind myself of giddy ecstasy, of my returned invincibility, take deep breaths. In five hours, the sun will rise again, the darkness always passes, you will lie in your bed wide awake and laugh.

I'm good.
I'm good.
I'm gone.